To Belong
by clreg
Summary: Doc Martin and others question and rediscover their bearings in Portwenn. Doc Martin belongs to Buffalo Pictures, this author has no rights whatsoever, just having fun.
1. Chapter 1

**To Belong**

Doc Martin and others question and rediscover their bearings in Portwenn. Doc Martin belongs to Buffalo Pictures, this author has no rights whatsoever, just having fun.

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 _ **N.B.**_ _: The chapters of this story are quite long because they advance several story arcs at once. Each section or scene does, however, make sense on its own and can therefore be read separately, it is not necessary to read entire chapters in one session to be able to follow the story. Scenes are separated by a divider and numbered for easy retrieval._

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - [1]**

It would be difficult to argue that in the small village of Portwenn in Cornwall there lived a more influential family than the Ellinghams. What with Doctor Ellingham, the local GP transplanted there from London a dozen years before, and Mrs. Ellingham, a village native and long-time Head Teacher of Portwenn Primary, no one in the village could easily avoid coming across either spouse's care. All souls in the village knew them well and by and large appreciated their service to the community, although the most fun gossip about the Ellinghams was decidedly in the past. While the couple had been much discussed a decade ago or so with its first failed wedding, child out of wedlock, reunions, separations, reunions, nothing so entertaining had happened of late. The Ellinghams appeared to be conducting a regular family life with husband and wife in well paid and respected professions, and the ideal set of children, a young son and daughter. Of this decidedly mundane turn of events the Ellinghams themselves were very satisfied, if only because it put them mostly out of the village rumour mill.

Doctor Ellingham, or Doc Martin as the villagers called him, well known as much for his extraordinary skills as for his bad temper, had had a long period of adjustment to village life. Everyone except the doctor himself, however, could see that once his marriage had settled he had become not a local, as that could never be, he was too different, but an odd lump fairly well blended into the fabric of daily village life, much like a prize item baked inside a cake. Mrs. Ellingham, or Louisa Glasson as many still thought of her, was her usual fiery self in addressing all sorts of school and community issues, but she was also the warm, caring and beautiful person they had always known, and thus her incomprehensible choice of a rather rude husband had long since been forgiven. And so it was that matters of import in the village did almost invariably end at the Ellinghams' doorstep, as in some capacity or other their counsel or action was sought. That is how on a fine Sunday afternoon, bathed in beautiful springtime sunshine and gentle breezes from the sea, began a chain of events that would alter the perceptions these prominent citizens had about their place in the odd, small, and beautiful community of Portwenn.

* * *

Martin sat on a blanket on the rocky and sandy mix of one of Portwenn's beaches with the mildly disgusted expression he always wore at such beach outings, whether he was actually having a good time or not. This day so far had not been too unpleasant. The weather was truly beautiful, the sun shining gloriously on a rather tranquil sea, with boats bobbing in the distance. Children were playing and making noise all around, but as his own son and daughter were among them he could not complain. The picnic basket for once had contained a few healthy choices, and best of all his beautiful wife was sitting next to him, smiling contentedly and humming some old song. What an idyllic picture he thought. If he had forgotten himself he might have actually smiled.

"Louisa… this is nice," he said, "and the children seem to be having fun."

"It is the first really nice spring day, so they can finally run around in the open air. I am glad you are… content?"

As he looked at her intensely he dropped his serious expression as his features softened a little into a fond look. "Yes. I... have a truly beautiful family."

Louisa slid closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. They sat there in companionable silence for a little while, until they were interrupted by the arrival of their children.*

"Dad, dad!" called James "Look, a limousine, like on the telly!"

Martin did not care too much about cars, but since James did he turned around and looked up towards the road. Sure enough one of those absurd extra-long black cars was parked along the edge.

"I have never seen a real limousine dad!"

"Well, now you have James."

"I wonder who it is," said Louisa, "it is really odd to see a limousine here."

As if to satisfy Louisa's and everyone else's curiosity, a uniformed chauffeur exited the front compartment and went to open the door in the back. Now all the people at the beach had stopped what they were doing and were looking up. "What else? We're in Portwenn," thought Martin.

A striking figure of a woman emerged from the limousine. She was tall and lean, with short platinum blonde hair, and wore an elegant black and white dress in an intricate geometric design, and black high heel shoes. She walked slowly towards the beach entrance, stopping to take in the beautiful view from the top.

"Must be some millionaire," commented Louisa. "There is something familiar about her though."

"Yes," said their daughter Joanie with a brooding look. "Can't you see mum? She's Cruella De Vil."

"Yeah," smiled Louisa, "she does look rather like Cruella from a distance, though her hair is not half white half black."

"What are you talking about?" asked a puzzled Martin.

"Silly daddy!" exclaimed Joanie smiling at her father. "She's that evil lady in the 101 Dalmatians."

"Ah, the one with all the ghastly dogs. What a nightmare, 101 dogs!" shivered Martin.

"So, Cruella," said James rather fascinated. "But I'm not scared of her. Do you think she would let me see what the limousine looks like inside?"

"No James, we do not know her and you should not bother her," replied Martin very firmly, as he knew James would otherwise insist.

"OK," mumbled James a bit disgruntled.

Then the lady decided to walk down to the beach. She took long, elegant strides until she came off the pavement and on to the beach itself. At that point she started walking more slowly, picking her way here and there.

"I bet those shoes cost one thousand pounds," said Louisa.

"Those shoes, with such heels, are not very practical for this beach," said Martin. No sooner had he finished saying it that the lady swayed, instinctively throwing her arms outward to maintain her equilibrium, but losing it nonetheless. One of her heels had become stuck among the rocks and broke off with an audible crack, while one knee twisted and landed fairly hard on the ground, with a hand quickly coming down to stop the rest of her falling body. The chauffeur, who had been leaning on the limousine, jumped up and started running down to the beach, but Martin was closer and could reach the fallen lady in a few long strides, though he was preceded by a running James who was yelling with as deep a voice as he could make: "Out of the way! Medical emergency!" in a fair imitation of his father.

The lady looked up with a grimace but said to James: "You are rather young to handle a medical emergency, aren't you?"

"No, my father is the doctor," replied James and pointed at Martin.

"A doctor? Lucky me," said the lady, "maybe you can take a look at my knee." She had sat on a larger rock that happened to be near her.

"Yes," said Martin, kneeling down and taking the lady's long and very well shaped leg in his big hands. He moved it this way and that, with the lady grimacing a bit, and then said: "It's not broken, just a bad twist. It will probably swell. And there's a cut, which needs cleaning. Let me see your hand," he commanded in his usual curt tone with patients.

The lady put her left hand, which had broken her fall, into Martin's.

"Mmm, slight cut and bruise, it needs disinfecting as well."

His secure, commanding tone, his height, his very elegant appearance and above all the touch of his warm hands on her bare leg all had an unforeseen but unequivocal effect on the sophisticated lady: she was unmarried, very experienced, and rather bored, so that one of Cupid's smaller darts did find a tiny target in her rather hardened heart. It would really be an exaggeration to say that it was for her a _coup de foudre_ , as she was incapable of such deep feelings, but her senses were definitely stirred by the doctor. Martin, meanwhile, was meditating that, had the woman not been wearing such a ghastly perfume, he would have felt much better. As we all know, Cupid is a nasty little boy who doesn't really care what havoc he might create with his small or big darts, so the fact that Martin's heart unassailably belonged to his wife was of no concern. If the woman had been nice you might well have felt sorry for her, but don't bother, as nice she was not.

Louisa had joined them by now, together with a lot of other curious people. A close look at the woman revealed a rather stunning beauty made of perfect lineaments further embellished by delicately applied make-up. Louisa judged her to be a very well maintained forty-years old or thereabouts.

"I do not have my medical bag with me," said Martin, "but my surgery is near if you like."

"Thank you Doctor…?"

"Ellingham."

"Thank you Doctor Ellingham… You are not what I would expect a country doctor to be like."

Martin just looked at her with a puzzled expression: what did this have to do with fixing her abrasions?

"Why, what did you expect?" asked James.

"Not a man in such a suit, on a Sunday afternoon at a small village beach… But yes, thank you, if your surgery is not far I'd appreciate your help." She tried to get up, but obviously her knee hurt as she swayed a bit. Martin caught her and she leaned on his arm, with half a smile and an unmistakably coquettish look, which he completely overlooked. Louisa, however, did not.

The chauffeur intervened: "Ms. Williams, let me help you walk to the car. Where is the surgery doctor?"

Martin was about to answer when Ms. Williams said: "Doctor Ellingham, you can ride with me."

"Can I ride too?" said James, not able to contain himself.

"Mmm… you are a bit too full of sand and mud young man," replied Ms. Williams coolly dismissing James.

"Louisa," said Martin turning to his wife, "if I ride I'll get there faster, so I should be back shortly." Louisa knew that Martin was perfectly oblivious of Ms. Williams' flirtatious looks towards him, but she was irritated by the woman's brazenness.

"Hello," said Louisa, "I'm Mrs. Ellingham." Her lips were smiling, but her eyes had daggers in them and conveyed this clear message to the other woman: "Hands off!" However, to Martin she said: "Sure, go ahead, and no need to come back. It's almost time to prepare dinner anyway. The kids and I will gather our things and come home, right after you."

"Are you sure?" asked Martin a little surprised.

"Yes, I'm sure, we'll be there shortly."

"Fine then," answered Martin. He turned to his new patient and said: "Let's go then Ms…?"

"Nigella Williams," she introduced herself, still flirtatiously.

"This one is used to getting anything she wants," thought Louisa, looking on while they walked away, "but she's in for a surprise with Martin."

James stuck his tongue out behind Ms. Williams' back, put his hands on his hips and imitated that right-left swinging of female hips: "I'm Nigella-Cruella, and I'm scared of sand in my limousine, oh dear!" he said in a pretend girly voice.

Louisa laughed: "She's lucky if your dad doesn't call her Cruella to her face by the time he's done with her."

When Louisa and the children arrived at the surgery the limousine was still parked outside, rather obstructing traffic. The chauffeur was leaning on it smoking a cigarette. James stopped to take a good look at this unusual, luxurious vehicle. The chauffeur smiled at him and winked: "Hey little mate, you can take a peek inside while she's with the doc. Just don't touch anything."

James smiled back and gave the chauffeur a silent high-five. He opened the car door and jumped: "Amazing!" he yelled.

Louisa and Joanie shook their heads and went inside. As they entered the surgery they almost ran into Ms. Williams who was limping towards the exit with some help from Martin.

"If it gets very swollen come see me tomorrow, Ms…?" Martin was saying.

"Nigella," the woman said again, a bit perplexed: how could he keep forgetting her name?

"Yes," mumbled Martin.

"Why, I thought you were a tourist passing by Ms. Williams. Are you staying in Portwenn?" asked Louisa.

"Just for a few weeks on business, I have a room at the Castle. I am a manager with King's Mart. We..." answered Ms. Williams.

"She's here about the King's Mart hypermarket plan," interrupted Martin to cut explanations short: the woman had been forward enough in his consulting room that even he was beginning to have a vague inkling that she might have been flirting.

"Ah, the King's Mart plan!" replied Louisa rather fiercely. "You're not here to present the plan at the Parish Council meeting, are you?"

"But I am," stated Ms. Williams a bit puzzled by Louisa's tone.

"Well, don't be surprised if Portwenn is not going to be too friendly to you, Ms. Williams," said Louisa in a rather cold tone of voice. "You will find strong opposition to your plan."

"Yes, we generally do in small villages. We generally win though," Ms. Williams said this looking at Louisa at first, but then turning to Martin, with a knowing look as if to an accomplice. He merely stared uncomprehending, while Louisa took it as one more act of flirting.

"You won't win here, no King's Mart hypermarket will ever be built that close to Portwenn. Goodbye," concluded Louisa in a decisive tone to assure herself just as much as Ms. Williams, and marched off to the kitchen.

Martin felt himself caught between a rock and a hard place right then, and rather awkwardly explained: "The villagers think that a King's Mart hypermarket would damage the local economy."

"Ah, that… I can hear your wife is Cornish, but you're not. London?"

"Yes."

"So what brought you here?"

"Oh, Cruella, that's personal. Goodbye," Martin concluded opening the door for her to step outside.

"Cruella?" Ms. Williams thought momentarily puzzled, then suddenly enlightened she told herself: "Oh, interesting..." And she left him with a little knowing smile which predictably he did not notice, while the chauffeur helped her to her limousine.

Later at bed time Louisa asked: "Why did that minx from King's Mart look at you as if you were on her side?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Come on Martin, she gave you that look that meant she and you understood each other."

"Really? About what?"

"Martin… you did not notice anything, did you?"

"No, what was I supposed to notice?"

"That she assumed you were on her side, King's Mart side… and that she was flirting with you non-stop."

"Flirting? Was she? I thought she might be, a little."

"Oh yes she was."

"Maybe she was just being… confident, sure of herself. And why would she assume I'm on King's Mart's side?"

"Did you talk about King's Mart?"

"No. Louisa… I think you are making her sound a lot worse than she was. She's just a professional woman from London and she finds herself working here in Portwenn… well obviously she will find everything and everyone to be… provincial."

"You mean she'll find us all to be stupid."

"Well, not you, no. But a lot of the villagers, yes, and if not idiotic then… bodmin, as you'd put it."

"Yes, only you Londoners are smart and know everything, right?"

"I didn't say that Louisa! I am just saying she does not fit in and will probably not get along with the locals."

"Which you know from personal experience?"

"Yes."

"After all these years living here, you still feel that way?"

"I am not a native, not a local person… But everyone knows me and I know them, so it's not as bad as it used to be, no… I could never belong like you and the children though."

"No, I guess not," admitted Louisa. "But Martin… The villagers do respect you. They may not like your bedside manner, but I think they do consider you part of the village, in your own way, even if you are not like anyone else… As for that woman… she thinks she's better than us, and come to think of it… maybe that's the source of that conspiratorial look she gave you, you two smart Londoners who are better than us country bumpkins… But she's not better than us, we'll show her… and you, too."

"Oh, that's unfair now, don't lump me together with her. I didn't think she was that unpleasant, but it's not as if she were suddenly my best friend," protested Martin.

"I sure hope not Martin, I really, really hope not," concluded Louisa quite fiercely and switched off her lamp, while Martin silently prayed never to come across the King's Mart manager again. Little did he know.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - [2]**

On Monday morning Martin sat at his desk poring over his new patient's notes and medical history. It was a rather thick folder and there was no time for all the details, but the general situation was clear enough.

"So Mr... Davis," said Martin looking at the folder on his desk "you were diagnosed with the relapsing-remitting form of multiple sclerosis fifteen years ago, but last year you had a turn for the worse and the diagnosis shifted to the secondary-progressive form of MS. Hospital stay of three months in 2014 after septicemia caused by an untreated urinary tract infection and a long recuperation period… One bed sore treated successfully… Pneumonia from food aspiration, twice, thus the feeding tube… and a catheter to drain your bladder… You were prescribed Baclofen and Tizanidine … pretty standard symptoms management there, and Clonazepam to sleep at night. I also see here you tried the Interferon Beta as well as a few other experimental treatments, but none have worked for you. Does that sum up the most important points correctly?"

The gray-brown haired, mid-forties man sitting on a motorized wheelchair across the desk was staring at Martin in wonder. Then he shook his head slightly and said:

"They told me you were good, but you got all of it in just five minutes. You know, most GPs couldn't do that."

"Mmm…" Martin had his usual difficulty with compliments. "You have come back to Portwenn. I am not a neurologist so you will need to make an appointment in Truro and then we'll work together."

"Yes, my neurologist in London gave me a contact, Bernard Lahm."

"Yes, I have heard of him, he does specialize in MS research. My receptionist will try to get you an appointment as soon as possible. I can continue to prescribe the drugs you were already taking for now, but I'll want to consult with Lahm. At the moment you are on a mere symptom management regimen, so I am wondering whether Lahm will advise a more aggressive treatment with any new drugs."

"In fifteen years what I have understood is that all the drugs indicated for MS work best, when they work, on the relapsing-remitting sort, but none are proven to work for secondary-progressive MS. Still, the London people said Lahm is developing a new experimental treatment for primary and secondary-progressive, so that's an added reason to go see him."

"Yes, research is an ongoing process, thus we can always hope for new drugs. But that's really not for your GP to decide. I'll be in charge of your… of overseeing your daily regimen and care. You are obviously in no condition to live alone."

Arthur Davis smiled: "They told me you are very direct. I actually like that, no useless beating around the bush. Correct of course, I'm a wretched invalid who cannot pee or defecate on his own, cannot eat by mouth, and definitely not get it on with a woman anymore."

Martin was a little startled but appreciative of this brutal honesty. It did save time.

"So have you considered an assisted living community?"

"No. My sister… I think you know my sister, she teaches art and music at Portwenn Primary."

"Oh, you're Mrs. Holmes' brother?"

"Yes. Beth, her husband Mark and little Melanie live in the house where we grew up, though they have fixed it very nicely now from the way it was back then. Our father was an old farmer who did not really care for good floors and nice furniture or large, clean windows overlooking our beautiful Cornish coast. Beth and Mark also transformed the old barn into a very nice guest apartment and when my wife left me…"

Arthur looked up with an ironic and bitter look which Martin recognized immediately as that of a man betrayed by someone he had trusted. Martin knew all about that from his youthful days, before he had become fully armored in his own short temper and bitterness not to be made a fool again.

"Sorry to hear that," said Martin softly.

"As long as I could function my wife stayed. I had a very good income… I was a well-regarded barrister in London, commercial law. My wife was younger than I, and when I was thinking maybe it was time for children she was not interested, she wanted a career of her own..." then with more bitterness in his voice "… but during my long hospital stay she got herself another man, an up and coming barrister himself, and left me… So much for in sickness and in health… But I'm not the only spouse who got dumped upon a bad diagnosis… and... the inability in bed, you know… she's not the type to go without that."

Martin looked at the man intently and then lowered his eyes. This was an intelligent, professional man who got struck fiercely by a consuming disease with no cure, brilliant career destroyed, and dumped to rot by himself. He was lucky to have a loving sister to take him in and rescue him from the probable indignities of a nursing home.

"So, how are you set up with home aid?" asked Martin.

"Social services do provide home nursing several hours a day, and luckily I also have a very good private insurance which makes it possible to have additional nursing help."

"Good. Then you will come at regular intervals to change your catheter, and so that I may monitor the course of any new medication Lahm may prescribe. I will give you my mobile number as well in case of emergency."

"Why, thank you Doctor Ellingham… I'm surprised."

"About?..."

"You."

"Me? Why?"

"Judging from what other people said I was expecting a sort of four-headed dragon."

Martin looked Arthur in the eye and said: "I see no reason to lose my patience with you… yet."

"Well doc," said Arthur laughing, really amused now "as long as you always tell it like it is, which you seem perfectly capable of doing, you'll have no problems with me. To hell with medical niceties, I have completely lost patience with those."

"So have I, though most people seem to like a lot more sugar-coating than I'm generally willing to provide."

"You know… for me coming back to Portwenn is a difficult step to take, I did love living in London. Yet in so many ways this is home, I grew up here, I always came back to visit family. I'll miss London, but it won't be strange. I know everyone and everyone knows me. But you… it must have been quite strange… difficult for you to come here from London."

Somehow Martin found it easy to talk to this man, who was obviously very inteligent. "It was," he answered, "I knew nobody but my aunt, and nobody knew me, or just a few old friends of my aunt's remembered me as a boy."

"And now?"

"And now… That's a difficult question and really none of your business, is it?"

"Ah, I have made you lose your patience, eventually," said Arthur with an ironic smile. "Well, maybe some other time you'll tell me what it's like for you to live here now after… how many years?"

"A dozen… Well then, I have a room full of patients out there. We'll let you know about the appointment in Truro as soon as possible."

"Speaking of no niceties…"

Martin shrugged and opened his consulting room door. Arthur drove his motorized chair through.

"Morwenna, call the disability transport van for Mr. Davis. Next patient!"

Arthur smiled. He had always been an excellent reader of people's character, and could see through Martin with ease: fierce exterior, heart of gold. A great find, the doc.

Going back to his consulting room Martin thought: "Were they all like this patient, my days would be a lot easier." But the man's final inquiry had Martin thinking. What was it really like for him, the London man, to be living here in this small village after a dozen years? His automatic response was that he did not fit in much more today than he had when he first arrived. But was it just a mental habit to think that? Was it still true? As he walked back into his consulting room he had the courage to silently confess to himself that he did not really know the honest answer to Arthur Davis' question.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - [3]**

Louisa, simply but elegantly attired in a flowery dress that accented her natural beauty, sat behind her desk in her office at Portwenn Primary with a perplexed expression. Across from her sat a small group of people, all known to her except for the young girl, perched on a chair on the side, who had all the appearance of a scared young animal, given her lithe appearance and large, beautiful gold-brown eyes that shifted around from place to place and generally downward, with no intention of stopping anywhere in particular. She put Louisa in mind of a scared young doe. The other three people were Mr. and Mrs. Rowe, local sheep farmers whom Louisa had known all her life, and social services employee Amelia Trewin, an old schoolmate from when Louisa and Amelia had themselves attended this same primary school.

"So Jasmine here is not understanding anything we are saying?" asked Louisa.

"Right, poor girl, she really has no English at all," answered Mrs. Rowe shaking her white haired head disconsolately.

"When did she arrive in Portwenn?"

"Just a week ago," replied Amelia. "She went from the care of the Foreign Office to Mr. and Mrs. Rowe just last Monday."

"How old is she?"

"There is no absolute certainty in terms of birth certificates or passport, which she does not have, but she herself was able to write her own date of birth in Arabic, which was translated at the consulate. She is twelve," said Amelia. "Besides not really knowing any English, at some point during her journey here she stopped speaking altogether."

"What, she does not talk at all?" asked Louisa raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"Correct."

"But… how did that happen?"

"Good question. Nobody really knows," said Amelia, while Mrs. Rowe wiped her eyes because some tears were gathering there. The girl, for her part, continued with her jittery, furtive looks toward Louisa, distractedly pulling on a scarf wrapped around her neck and head, which was probably not silk though it looked equally light. She was obviously a very scared child. Louisa sighed. They were asking for help, but she could not make any decisions with as little information as she had.

"Amelia, Mr. and Mrs. Rowe… let's begin at the beginning please," asked the Head Teacher, "I really need to understand the whole story, or at least gather as much information as you have. I need information to be able to make a decision."

Amelia took the initiative to begin answering Louisa's request: "Jasmine was brought to the door of the British consulate in Thessaloniki, Greece, about a month ago. She had traveled mostly on foot and precarious boat transportation with thousands of other Middle Eastern refugees. She comes from a small village in Iraq. Her entire family was killed when militias captured the town in 2014. Her neighbors took pity on her when they were fleeing the city and took her with them. They are our only source of information on Jasmine since she does not talk and will not write anything about her past. The poor child has obviously been through a lot and will need a lot of care, but it is difficult to help her now given that she does not understand any English."

"Why did this family, the neighbors, leave her then?" inquired Louisa "It seems like they had adopted her."

"In a way they had. The head of that family told the British consul in Thessaloniki that Jasmine was lost for a time while they were stationed for months at a refugee camp in Turkey. When they found her again she was mute, and never told what happened to her. The neighbors did not know what to do with the child anymore, but they did know something about her which, they concluded correctly, would probably help her as she made her way west. They knew she was an illegitimate child, born of a union between the girl's mother and a British officer stationed in Iraq. Jasmine carries a photograph, which she never separates herself from. It's a picture of her mother hand in hand with Major Jonathan Rowe. He had written his name on the back of the picture together with his address in Portwenn."

"What?" exclaimed Louisa, "Jonathan had a daughter in Iraq?" Portwenn was a really small village, Louisa had known Jonathan quite well.

Here Mr. Rowe intervened: "He probably never knew, Louisa. He wrote us a letter the day before he was killed in action, the letter we received after we were told he was dead… He did say in that letter that he had met a wonderful girl in Iraq, a nurse, though we do not know where exactly. Louisa, you know our Jonathan was awarded the George Cross for saving the life of his men by giving his own… So the British consul took the matter to heart and called us and… to make a long story short he told us to do that test to see if it was true that Jasmine is our granddaughter."

"DNA test," specified Amelia.

"Yes, that," continued Mr. Rowe. "Jasmine is Jonathan's daughter, no doubt they said. And it seems she has no other relatives in the world but us. The consul was able to have her come to Portwenn pretty quickly after the test confirmed she's half British, poor girl, and the daughter of a hero."

"He was a hero, Jonathan," nodded Louisa.

"We were shocked but so happy when we heard about her!" exclaimed Mrs. Rowe. "As you know, Jonathan was our only child, and Jasmine is a gift from God!"

"Well," protested Mr. Rowe "God has a strange way to give presents then. The poor girl must have… we have no idea what it must have been like Louisa, but can you imagine, running away from those… those terrorist killers, walking most of the way from Iraq to Greece… and disappearing for a time… What on Earth happened to our granddaughter? Look at the poor child! She's like a scared rabbit! Gift from God, woman! Don't misunderstand Louisa, we do love the girl already, we can see Jonathan in her… But if there is a God how can he let all this happen to a child? I bet we don't even know the worst of it."

"I see a bit of Jonathan in her myself, Mr. Rowe," said Louisa "she does look rather like him… What a horrible situation, poor child…"

Mrs. Rowe was in tears now and said: "She eats very little, either she does not like our food or… I don't know. I'm afraid she'll get sick…"

"Well, you can take her by the surgery and register her there, and either you make an appointment or I can see whether Martin can let you come in today. He'll be able to confirm Jasmine is in good health, hopefully. But as to the matter at hand… If Jasmine is twelve she is one year older at least than the eldest child at this school."

"We know that," said Amelia "but we have agreed that to send her among her peers at this point would be a mistake. You know how cliquish girls can be at her age, not to mention they'd be culturally quite different from Jasmine. We figured it would be very difficult for Jasmine to socialize, given her lack of language skills and her emotional state. Adolescents can be pretty mean to each other even under the best circumstances, can you imagine when presented with such an easy target as Jasmine? The last thing she needs poor soul is some school bully to start tormenting her. Our thinking is that if she were allowed to come to school here she could begin to learn some English and to relate to people in a far less threatening environment, as she would be surrounded by younger children. Then come next term we'll see. Social services will also provide counseling, though we need to find someone who speaks whichever version of Arabic she does, and that may prove difficult."

Louisa favored them with a long, very perplexed look. "Well" she said at last with a sigh, "this is going to be quite difficult, for all of us… But I see your point, and I agree that dumping Jasmine among her same-age cohort immediately might be shocking… Alright then, we can give it a try, but I expect someone from social services and Mr. and Mrs. Rowe to be reachable at all times in case we have a crisis we cannot handle."

"Of course," answered Mrs. Rowe.

Louisa turned her attention to Jasmine, who was now looking at her. Louisa gave her her best, warmest smile and said: "Hello Jasmine." Then pointing to herself she added: "I am Mrs. Ellingham." Then pointing at herself again she repeated "Mrs. Ellingham." Jasmine stared at her with her big gold-brown eyes and then gave Louisa a minimal nod.

"Mrs. Rowe, I'll talk to Martin during the lunch hour and I'll explain Jasmine's situation to him. I'm sure he'll be able to see you soon, maybe this afternoon. Would that work for you?"

"Mmm… yes if the doc won't yell at Jasmine, I don't need to tell you what the doc's like, Louisa."

"Once he knows Jasmine's situation he'll be very gentle with her, I assure you. He's not the ogre he still pretends to be," said Louisa smiling.

"If you say so…"

"I do, and in any case you'll accompany Jasmine."

"Yes, of course."

"Good. Now I have an idea. I know one little girl who is very sweet and who can be a friend to Jasmine. Wait here."

Louisa left her office and reappeared a few minutes later followed by a little girl who looked very much like the Head Teacher, but who had a rather shy air about her, as she seemed rather taken aback by so many unknown people in her mother's office.

"Joanie, this is Jasmine. Jasmine does not speak English. She is an orphan whose dad was Mr. and Mrs. Rowe's son. Would you be very nice to Jasmine and try to make friends? Perhaps you could draw some pictures and tell her a few words. She will probably not answer anything, but she might learn English words if you tell her some."

"You mean she has no mum and dad?" asked Joanie in a really sad tone of voice.

"Right," replied Louisa, sShe does have grandparents though. I used to go to school with Jasmine's dad."

"Not having a mum and dad is very sad though. Poor Jasmine. Will she want to be my friend then?" asked Joanie.

"I hope so. You will be nice to her I'm sure, and she will be nice to you too I would think."

"OK."

Here Louisa was afraid that her shy daughter would not progress towards meeting Jasmine on her own, and certainly she did not expect Jasmine to take the initiative. But Louisa had underestimated her daughter's powers of empathy. Joanie had been peering at Jasmine and recognized immediately, instinctively the signals of social fear, because she herself was often very wary of being among strangers. Though Joanie could not fathom the depths of despair in Jasmine's heart, she recognized sadness too when she saw it. Thus, without really thinking about it, Joanie stepped towards Jasmine, smiled at her with a very warm, even glowing smile and said: "I'm Joanie and I'm going to be your friend." Joanie took Jasmine's hand in hers. Jasmine did not recoil. She looked down at Joanie and did see a friend in that smile, a rather small friend, but a friend nonetheless. She therefore gave Joanie a tiny nod of her head and let Joanie lead her by the hand out of the Head Teacher's office.

"Well, that was easier than I thought," commented Amelia.

"Yes…" replied Louisa "Joanie does have a winning way about her when she feels safe. I guess she did feel safe with Jasmine." Turning to Mrs. Rowe Louisa saw that the old lady was silently shedding copious tears now.

"Shhh," said Louisa, patting Mrs. Rowe on her shoulder.

"Oh Louisa!" said Mrs. Rowe among sobs. "That's the first time I see Jasmine accept anyone so quickly."

Louisa smiled: "As I said, my Joanie does have a sweet way about her."

* * *

*The personality of these two children as I imagine them is described in _Christmas Imbroglio_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - [1]**

By Noon the reception room at the surgery was empty and Martin was looking forward to his daily break in the routine. He was surprised when his wife opened the side door after a quick knock and said:

"Ready for lunch?"

"You're here? Yes, I'm rather hungry in fact."

"Good. I warmed up the soup and tossed some salad. I bought some fresh bread too."

"Well, thank you Mrs. Ellingham," said Martin moving to the kitchen where the lunch was all laid out and ready to be consumed. Since they were alone he shyly added: "So… you missed me?"

Louisa smiled. "I like being with you, husband, you know that… but I wanted to talk to you about a child I met this morning, Jasmine Rowe."

Louisa then related Jasmine's tragic story, which would save the Rowes and Martin from a long conversation, and would put Martin on his best behavior, hopefully. Martin did not say much till the end and ate his lunch in silence. Finally he cleared his voice and commented: "This girl…Jasmine?"

"Yes, Jasmine."

"She might mean quite a lot of extra work at the school."

"I know" sighed Louisa, "but on the other hand this poor child needs to start socializing somewhere, and we are the safest place, social services are right about that. You should see her Martin… she may have been malnourished during her harrowing trip, you'll be the judge of that… but she is so skinny and jumps like a scared rabbit at anything. I have assigned Joanie as her guide around the school. I hope you don't mind."

Martin was silent for a few seconds. "That's fine as long as she cannot tell Joanie whatever it is she's been through, but if she starts telling later on… then no, Joanie does not need to be told details about war and dead people, or whatever else this poor girl has seen."

"Of course, Martin. For now though Joanie is doing a great job. She took Jasmine by the hand and showed her the school. Then Joanie drew pictures for Jasmine."

"Do keep an eye on anything this girl might draw as well, Louisa, I would alert all the teachers about it. She might come up with some pretty disturbing pictures which none of the children should see."

"Yes, I have alerted the entire staff already, don't tell me how to do my job Martin!" huffed Louisa.

"I did not! And you, are you not here to make me be on my best behavior with this girl? I'm not a child!" retorted Martin.

They stared at each other for a long moment, Louisa mentally counting to ten, and Martin breathing slowly in-out, in-out. They both let go, old lessons well learned by now.

"Sorry," they said at the same time.

Martin took Louisa's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and said: "You can trust me not to be rough with such a child as this Jasmine."

"I do, I know you empathize more easily with mistreated children than with anyone else. So, when could you see Jasmine?" asked Louisa. "She may be in need of medical attention, her grandparents are obviously concerned that she does not appear to be eating enough."

"I think I can probably see her late this afternoon. That soon enough?"

"Yes, that's perfect Martin, thank you. Jasmine can walk from school to the surgery with us and the Rowes will meet us here then," concluded Louisa.

They quickly put the few dirty dishes in the dishwasher and Louisa left with a quick parting kiss.

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - [2]**

Upon her return to school Louisa found Beth Holmes chatting in the courtyard with a man sitting on a motorized wheelchair. Louisa had not seen Arthur Davis in several years. She was struck by his altered appearance, but tried not to show it when she said: "Arthur! The long lost London barrister is back home!"

"Yes, not for a good reason…" answered Arthur indicating his own crippled body with a jerky sweep of his hand.

Seeing Louisa wince at her own gaffe Beth intervened: "Arthur has had to retire, sadly," and from there they spent a few minutes catching up with each other, reminiscing a little and laughing about when they were children together. Then Beth said: "Louisa, you know Arthur is a commercial law specialist, right? I was talking to Arthur the other day about the King's Mart hypermarket plan…"

"Where exactly do they want to build it?" asked Arthur. "It's a bit vague, I'd like to see it on a map."

"Oh, just off the coastal path at the very edge of the village, we have a map in my office," said Louisa shaking her head. "Huge building and car-park, a lot more people driving in that area than ever before… the whole set up would wreak havoc on Portwenn's image as the center of a pristine area, and drive every small retailer in the village out of business altogether."

"That's exactly what I was telling Arthur. But he thinks our "No King's Mart in Portwenn" committee is not doing as good a job as it should."

"I would say it is positively amateurish," said Arthur bluntly. "The committee needs a website. It must disseminate information in a variety of ways both digital and on paper, circulate a petition against the hypermarket, participate with large numbers of concerned citizens at the Parish Council meeting, and also seek direct representation of its views by actively enlisting the support of as many councilors as possible. Beth has described to me a lot of grumbling in town about the King's Mart plan, but very little concerted action to stop it. It is not too late. The Council will vote on the King's Mart plan in several weeks. It's a short time to get better organized, but enough. And that's the only way to stop them, we must have Parish Council reject the plan."

Louisa smiled at Arthur after this speech. Arthur smiled back. His body was crumpled in his chair and he had obviously lost any muscle tone he'd had in the past. But despite being so scrunched in the wheelchair it was obvious he had been really handsome once, his lineaments regular and masculine, laugh lines around his mouth and eyes that once had given him rugged good looks. She felt so sorry for him, what a slap life had reserved for him.

"So Arthur, you are going to help us then?" asked Louisa. "Beth and I have family and jobs, and we have not been able to organize very well as a consequence. If you have time…"

A bitter laugh from Arthur: "Yes, plenty of time, nothing else to do in fact."

"…then be our guide, tell us what to do. I'm thinking Al Large could help with the website, he's good with computers… Morwenna could print things... and…"

"And we need a smart, energetic spokesperson with a hot temper to set a fire under all the Parish Councilors' bums. Guess who I have in mind?"

"No, who?" asked Louisa naively.

"Well you Louisa, of course."

"Me?"

"Of course you. Beth suggested it, and she's absolutely right. Can you think of anyone in this town who is more passionate and eloquent about maintaining a viable community and economy in Portwenn without spoiling the natural beauty of the area?"

Louisa was silent: modesty aside no, she could not think of anyone, she was the usual go-to person whenever anything of community import needed to be accomplished. She had never served as Parish Councilor simply because her job and her family kept her too busy, but her interest in community affairs was very keen.

"See my point?" said Arthur.

"Yes, but what about you Arthur, Portwenn-born London barrister and all that?"

"Some days are quite good for me Louisa, like today, but then there are others when I'm weak, my speech is slurred, and I do not have enough energy. I'll be at your side whenever I am strong enough, rest assured, but do be prepared for times when I won't be."

"We may have a problem though," said Louisa, "and he's six foot three."

Arthur laughed, understanding her meaning immediately.

"I met the fierce Doctor Ellingham this morning," said Arthur with some sparkle in his eye and a lingering smile.

"Oh, Martin is very short tempered, but he'll do right by you medically, I'm sure," said Louisa.

"No, he was just fine, called a spade a spade, and that's what I like."

"Then you'll be a patient to his liking, there's no getting Martin to embellish on any medical detail. Or anything else… But I have not been able to convince him that the King's Mart plan is a calamity for Portwenn. Martin… he can be as stubborn as a mule sometimes."

"Being a London barrister and all that, as you put it," said Arthur "means that on a good day I'll be able to keep my own in a debate with Martin or just about anyone else, Louisa, and no false modesty there. I was good at what I did. But even if we cannot persuade Martin to come on board… no harm done. He is entitled to his opinions."

"No, you don't understand Arthur. It's just that he'll be stoically silent, with big sad eyes about it for several weeks. Once I tell him what we are up to he'll say "Fine!" and pretend he does not see me working at it, so he won't have to comment on it. He'll build a neat little wall all around the King's Mart issue if I know him, right when I'm all on fire about it. That's likely to make me be furious with him… if I know myself. Not good Arthur, not good at all. I really don't want to create a difficult situation with Martin."

Arthur looked at her with a very intent and puzzled stare. Beth came to his rescue: "Martin and Louisa are great together, really, but they have very different… opinions at times."

"Obviously they can work around those different opinions… I wish my wife and I could have done as much in our marriage…" said Arthur sadly. "Louisa… the King's Mart plan should not come between you and your husband. But you can try to talk to him and maybe he will accept your role in this."

"Well, I can try, but if he shuts up on me about it, then it's a bad sign. I'd almost prefer opposition than that wall of his quite frankly… Arthur… I may decide not to be our main spokesperson in the end, so we do have to think of a substitute in that case. Fair enough?"

"Absolutely," replied Arthur with a sly smile, "and I look forward to that discussion with the fierce doc, ought to refine our arguments, don't you think?"

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - [3]**

At the end of the school day Louisa, James and Joanie stood on the school's doorstep, ready to go, waiting for Jasmine to go with them. They were not able to make her understand that she was going to walk with them to the surgery. Joanie offered her hand, and Jasmine took it, but the older girl's feet would not budge.

"Oh, what to do without a translator now? Maybe I should call Mr. and Mrs. Rowe to come to school instead of meeting us at the surgery," said Louisa.

"A translator!" said James with a sparkle of recognition in his eye. "Mum, may I borrow your mobile?"

"Ah, James! How can I trust you with my mobile? It took you a week last time to shift it back from Arabic to English!"

"Mum! Arabic, exactly that. Doesn't Jasmine speak… and hopefully read Arabic?"

"I think so. Not a good reason to shift my mobile back to that though!"

"No mum. The translation app, that's what."

"What?"

"When I got your mobile stuck in Arabic Al helped me put it back into English with a translation app. You write words in English, and the computer or mobile translates. Al showed me."

"I see… But James… If my mobile is not set in English when you are done, you will be in such trouble you have no idea young man!"

"Don't worry mum, the app won't change your mobile language, promise. Can I have it?"

Rather reluctantly Louisa passed her smartphone to James who quickly found a popular translation application which Louisa had no idea was already installed, "together with another hundred "apps" that do who knows what," she thought.

"See mum, it's just an app. You write what you want to say in this white square and it comes back translated in the green square. You just have to choose the language." James put the tip of his finger on Arabic.

"OK…" said Louisa dubiously, but she typed: " _Your grandparents are coming to our house_ ," and… a sentence written in Arabic appeared in the green square. Magic, thought Louisa. Of course, thought James.

Louisa showed the screen to Jasmine who stared at it for a little while, then nodded, not to Louisa but to Joanie who was still holding her hand, and Jasmine's feet finally came unglued from the school's doorstep so they could all walk towards the surgery.

"You have to show me how to do that again James."

"Mum, you just need to remember what the app icon looks like. It's a green and white circle with a T on it. Now it is set for Arabic so all you do is put your finger on it and it opens up. Once you've found the icon."

"That's the point James, where do I find this icon?"

"MUM! Together with the other apps!"

"I know James, I know, but where are they? I have no idea. Good thing I have you to teach me though."

James shook his head and said: "I love you mum, but you're so, so hopeless with your mobile! I'll put the T icon on your main screen so you can use it with Jasmine. OK?"

"Excellent, thank you James. I'm sorry you have such a technological blockhead for a mum."

"That's OK mum, nobody can be good at everything," said James with an odd old man's wisdom about him.

They arrived home quickly and the kids went straight to the kitchen to make tea with their mother. Jasmine's grandparents had not yet arrived. Joanie pulled Jasmine by the hand into the kitchen, where Jasmine then stood straight in a corner not knowing what to do.

Louisa used her mobile again. She typed: " _Would you like some tea_?" and showed it to Jasmine who again turned to Joanie and gave the little girl a nod. Joanie then pulled a chair close to hers and patted it looking at Jasmine who understood this hand language immediately and sat down, very close to Joanie.

Not long after they had all gathered around the table with their tea, Martin came in from the consulting room.

"Hello," he said.

"DADDDYYY!" yelled Joanie in her usual enthusiastic greeting of her beloved father. He came closer and caressed his daughter's hair, but in so doing unavoidably loomed over Jasmine who shrank and seemed to tremble once presented with this very large stranger.

"He's fine," said Joanie, "he's my daddy!"

James quickly grabbed Louisa's mobile that was on the table and wrote: " _This is our father, he is the doctor_ ," and showed the translation to Jasmine.

Jasmine looked, nodded to James this time and seemed marginally less scared.

Martin had quickly moved away from the two girls, closer to James.

"Are you translating with mum's smartphone James?" asked Martin.

"Yes, Jasmine does not know ANY English."

"Mmm… good thinking James, I was just wondering how to communicate with Jasmine when her grandparents arrive, so that's what we'll do. If I can get anywhere near her."

"Maybe she'll get used to you a bit before Mr. and Mrs. Rowe arrive," said Louisa.

Martin had a skeptical look, but sat down, well away from Jasmine, and poured himself a cup of tea.

"She has hardly touched any food today," Louisa informed Martin, "she ate only some bread."

Martin took a good look at Jasmine who was now staring at her cup. She appeared emaciated, unsurprisingly. He would have to draw some blood and check for any possible consequences of malnutrition. He shook his head slightly, saddened again by the plight of this poor girl.

Joanie then spontaneously left her seat and climbed onto her father's lap from where she reached up, wrapped her little arms around his neck and planted a big and somewhat slobbery kiss on his cheek, which Martin requited with one of his own on the little girl's head and a quick hug.

Jasmine watched in fascination this small father-daughter scene, big round eyes fixed on them in wonder, then quickly clouded by a sudden, stricken look. She lowered her eyes, but could not avoid a tear that rolled down the side of her face. Joanie didn't know that her spontaneous burst of affection for her big daddy had achieved two important goals in the space of a minute. First, Jasmine felt she could trust Martin as the love for Joanie she read in his eyes and his body language spoke volumes to her; second, she allowed herself to remember her own mother's loving embrace, if for a brief second. It was a first chink in the protective wall she had built around herself.

Mr. and Mrs. Rowe arrived then, and Morwenna brought them to the kitchen. When Mrs. Rowe entered Jasmine looked up and nodded, got up and went to stand next to her grandmother.

"Shall we go to the consulting room?" asked Martin.

"Sure doc," said Mrs. Rowe taking her granddaughter's hand. Jasmine immediately stretched out her other hand towards Joanie with a pleading look.

"Daddy, Jasmine wants me to come."

"Joanie, you cannot be present at patients' visits."

"Oh doc," said Mrs. Rowe "if you're worried about privacy… forget that. Whatever makes Jasmine feel safer is fine with us."

Martin had doubts but said: "Fine for now, but there may well be some parts of this conversation that are not for a seven year old girl's ears."

"Sure," whispered the grandmother, and they went into the consulting room.

"So Mrs. Rowe," asked Martin when everyone had taken a seat, "Jasmine has been in your custody for about a week. How has she been?"

"Ah doc, not so well. She accepted us right away as her grandparents. She saw pictures of her father, our Jonathan, with us and I guess she was well taught to respect and trust family and her elders. But she has nightmares, eats little, throws up sometimes, and stays by me all the time, I can barely go to the loo. Or she spends time with our sheep, she really loves them. As people go, Joanie here is the only one so far who has been able to take my place."

"What has she been eating?"

"We cook the usual, chicken, lamb, fish, potatoes, veggies, eggs. All simple," answered Mrs. Rowe, "she likes bread and eats a few bites. She must be used to very different food, I'm not sure."

"Well, we'll see how she is with a blood test and urine analysis, those results will tell us a lot."

Martin typed something on his computer then turned the screen around: there it was, English and Arabic translation: " _Are you afraid of needles_?"

Jasmine stared at the screen and then looked at Joanie with a pleading look. Joanie looked back and then said: "Daddy, maybe she could write an answer?"

"Yes." Martin clicked the symbol that inverted the two languages and pushed the laptop towards Jasmine. She looked at the keyboard and shook her head with a sad look.

"Maybe she cannot write, daddy."

"Oh, of course!" exclaimed Martin, "she needs an Arabic keyboard."

Martin worked on the computer for a little while and then turned the laptop again towards Jasmine. Now there were two large boxes, and an onscreen keyboard with Arabic symbols. The box on top said again: " _Are you afraid of needles_?" and a translation appeared in the second box. Martin indicated the screen and hovered with a finger over the onscreen keyboard. Joanie went a step further and put her finger right on an Arabic character, because it looked strange and pretty to her, and then squealed when it appeared typed in the Arabic box. Jasmine then understood and put her finger on some other on-screen symbols. The English translation appeared: " _What needles_?" Martin almost jumped for joy and wrote: " _I need to draw some blood. It does not hurt much_." Arabic appeared. " _Can your daughter hold my hand?_ " " _Yes_."

With this method Martin was able to draw some blood and to get a urine sample as well. Martin was really gentle with Jasmine, not wanting to hurt her in any way. Mr. and Mrs. Rowe looked at each other, astonished: without his usual scowl the doc seemed like another man altogether, and they didn't know what to make of him.

Jasmine's lungs sounded normal though Martin listened to them through her shirt, as he thought best not to ask her to remove too many clothes, especially not the scarf around her hair and neck. Then he wrote: " _You must eat more_."

" _My stomach is sick, I cannot eat much_."

" _Don't you like the food your grandparents give you?_ "

" _It's good, but my stomach is sick_."

" _What do you feel_?"

" _Vomit._ "

"Mmm… she may have a stomach virus, or a bacterial infection," said Martin, "sanitation must have been ghastly at those refugee camps. We'll need a stool sample as well."

They used the computer again to explain what a stool sample was. Joanie had a very difficult time not to giggle, while Jasmine did not seem happy about it at all, but eventually wrote she would do it. When it was time to leave, Jasmine hugged Joanie tight. Joanie reached up and kissed Jasmine on the cheek. Martin did not quite see a smile on Jasmine's lips, but almost he thought. When the Rowe family was gone Martin picked up his daughter and told her:

"Well done Joanie, I don't know that we could have done as much without you."

"No daddy. It was your good manners."

" _MY_ good manners?!"

"Yes daddy, you were very nice to Jasmine. Thank you, she's my friend. You didn't yell at her not even once. Mum says good manners are important."

"Thank you Joanie. Nobody ever praised me for my good manners before." He felt rather proud of himself, though he would never admit that to anyone.

Later at dinner Louisa asked Joanie details about what she had done with Jasmine at school.

"Well, Jasmine sat next to me and I tried to teach her words."

"How did you do that?" asked Louisa.

"I showed her pictures in the books and told her the names of things. I think she learned some."

"Really? How can you even tell?" exclaimed James. "She does not say anything at all."

"No, but I asked her to show me a man and she showed me a man, and to show me sheep and she showed me sheep."

"But how did you ask her?" inquired James, curious as ever.

"I said "man?" like this, raising my eyebrows a lot like this… 'cause that's how the teachers ask questions. And Jasmine pointed at the picture of the man in the book."

"Well done Joanie!" said Louisa with a big smile. "Smart girl! Between your brother teaching me translation with the mobile, and you teaching Jasmine some words I think we'll be able to communicate with Jasmine. That's a relief. I know I'm not supposed to ask, and I do not need any details Martin, but is she well?"

"Too soon to tell, but we are doing lab work to find out, as ever."

"Daddy had very good manners with Jasmine mum," said Joanie smiling.

Martin was contemplating his plate, but raised his eyes to look dubiously at Louisa who looked back and smiled at him. "Your father can be really sweet children, even if we are the only three people in the world who know that."

"Mum!" exclaimed James in indignation, "Dad has to be a man, M.A.N., man! He can't go 'round being all sweet with all the villagers now, can he? They wouldn't do what he says! Dad, your secret is safe with me."

Martin shifted his gaze to James and said very seriously: "Thank you James."

Louisa looked at both her men alternatively and shook her head at them: "I'll leave this masculine conspiracy to you two then. But I'm glad dad was very nice to Jasmine, though I had no doubt he would be."

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - [4]**

After their quiet dinner, just as Martin was to read to the children, the surgery phone started ringing insistently. Martin cursed inwardly, came down the stairs, grabbed the receiver and boomed, very irritated: "Ellingham!"

"Doc! Bert Large."

"Is this a medical emergency?"

"Yes, you'd better get over here quickly, to the pub… fisticuffs, one bloke is unconscious… there's blood too…"

"I'll be right there."

Martin hung up and perceived that Louisa was behind him.

"Some idiots at the pub punched each other, one seems seriously injured," he told her while grabbing his bag. "The children… you'll need to read to them… and say goodnight to them for me please."

"Of course," replied Louisa and sent him off after patting his back affectionately as he rushed out.

Martin ran down the hill and to the pub quickly. This could be nothing, or a serious trauma to the head, better get there as fast as possible. When he entered the pub he found the publican cleaning up a messy scene, Joe Penhale protesting that evidence was being removed, some people looking on from a group at the back of the pub, one man slumped on a chair holding a bloody rug, and the one he was looking for on the ground, Bert hovering near.

"He is breathing doc, but we cannot wake him," said Bert.

Martin knelt down near the man, whom he recognized as a local fisherman. There was blood at the side of his head. That did not look like the result of a punch. Martin felt his stomach churn at the sight and smell of blood. He controlled himself, but was surprised, that hadn't happened to him in quite some time. Whenever he had haemophobia symptoms it meant something down deep was bothering him, more often than not something he was not conscious of. "What now?" he thought, worried, but quickly turned his attention again to his patient.

"Bert, how did he injure his head?" asked Martin.

"He was rather tipsy and he lost his legs when he punched the other bloke. He fell hard with his head hitting the corner of the table. Then he rolled to his back."

Martin worked on the man till he got him to babble back a few incoherent sounds. Martin took the vital signs and concluded:

"We do need an ambulance here. Penhale!"

"Doc?"

"Call the ambulance."

"Right away doc!"

"Is it serious?" asked Bert.

"This might be more the liquor than the bump to his head," answered Martin. "The wound is not deep, despite the blood, but the internal damage is impossible to assess without scans, and without being able to ask him any questions. How much had he drunk?"

"A lot!" said the publican. "And he owes me."

"Well, he's breathing normally on his own…" concluded Martin, "I think it's mostly the alcohol here, he'll be hung-over, with a big lump on his head, and a concussion perhaps, but they'll have to scan his head at the hospital. I'll wait till the ambulance arrives. Let's see the other idiot then."

Martin turned to the man holding the bloody rag to his nose. He again had to control a queasy feeling.

"Take off that filthy rag! Let me see." Martin inspected the man's nose, with a considerable amount of wincing from the injured party.

"Not broken," sentenced Martin, "it will swell up some more, but press this clean gauze, the bleeding should stop soon. Your nose should get back to normal in a few days." Then Martin tested the man for signs of concussion and found none. It was then that Martin remembered that this man with the bloody nose was the new owner of the dry cleaning business in town. He did not seem the type to get involved in a pub brawl.

"Now, two grown men… was it really necessary to punch each other?" asked Martin.

"Sorry doc. It was to protect the lady from the drunken fisherman."

"What lady?"

"Here, Doctor Ellingham," said a cool voice from behind the crowd. Then she stepped forward. It was Nigella Williams.

"Ah, you," said Martin, not at all pleased to see her.

"The fisherman expressed his interest in the lady in a rather coarse manner," explained the man with the bloody nose, "and I tried to restrain him… he hit me and fell in the process."

"Do you want to press charges?" asked Penhale eagerly.

"Nah," replied the dry-cleaning business owner, "lot of paperwork for nothing, he got the worst of it anyway."

A disappointed Penhale then addressed Ms. Williams: "And you, madam?"

"No, he was just drunk. Forget it constable." Then she turned to the doc. Martin said mechanically: "How's the knee?"

"Still hurts."

"To be expected. It should start improving soon though."

"Can I offer you a drink Doctor Ellingham, while you wait for the ambulance?"

"I don't drink."

"At all?"

"At all," he replied curtly. Ms. Williams wondered how it was that the tall, elegant doctor with the brooding looks had such power to rivet her attention. And what an odd fish out of water, she thought. He definitely tickled her fancy.

"Well, a non-alcoholic beverage then?"

Martin was thirsty so he said: "Just a glass of water."

Ms. Williams then turned to the publican and ordered water for the doc and sherry for herself.

She went to sit close to where Martin was standing and indicated the chair across from her. Since there was no sense standing around for the next few minutes till the arrival of the ambulance, Martin sat down, hoping he was not expected to make conversation. Vain hope, that.

"So Doctor Ellingham, are nights at the pub here always so… colorful?"

"I wouldn't know, I do not frequent the pub."

"I have just hired the use of this pub, and obtained a permit for the use of the grounds outside, for a village meeting about the construction of the King's Mart hypermarket. It appears some of the locals need persuasion."

As Martin did not reply, sipping on his water, Ms. Williams added: "Are you opposed to the hypermarket, doctor?"

"Not particularly. It seems to be the way of retail sales these days."

"Of course. Convenient one-stop shopping, that's what we are all about. So would a citizen as prominent as the local doctor speak in favor of the hypermarket then? We could use local support to help persuade contrary villagers."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not? You just said you don't oppose…"

"Or particularly support the hypermarket. I will not make any public speeches about it, for or against," said Martin decisively.

Ms. Williams gave him a long look and an ironic smile.

"I see, not rocking the boat with the wife… understandable."

"Please leave my wife out of this," said Martin very irritated. Why did this woman need all this chit-chat?

Ms. Williams, not knowing Martin at all, and because she could not imagine that this mundane conversation could irritate anyone in the least, interpreted Martin's obvious annoyance as directed at his wife. That explained his attitude, she concluded, as a happy man generally does not wear such a scowl. She felt encouraged.

"Doctor… you seem upset… Anything I can do to help?" she asked with one of her coquettish smiles.

"What?" said Martin, "no, I'm fine."

What to make of this reserve? Ms. Williams started to think of another line of attack.

"How long have you lived here doctor?"

"About a dozen years," he answered reluctantly.

"It does not appear as though you blend in so well… you do stick out, if you don't mind my saying so."

"I did not grow up here, so I'm not quite the villager, am I?" replied Martin irritated by these questions.

"Yes, I can see how it would be difficult for a professional London man, a renowned vascular surgeon, to blend into such a tiny village… The local educational level does not seem so good…"

Martin was staring at her now, with a mix of surprise and dismay on his face.

"Who told you about me? The gossip in this village!"

"No gossip actually. Who needs gossip when there's google?"

"Google?"

"Of course. Ever googled yourself Doctor Ellingham?"

"No."

"You should, though if you are going to look at all the entries it will take you a very long time."

"So how did _you_ have the time to google me then?"

"I didn't, I have… minions, you know," she said with an ironic and slightly wicked smile. "I asked my secretary to google you and send me a report on the double, salient points and such."

"And she did it all in a few hours, your secretary?"

"He. He is very efficient. He could not work for me if he weren't. So, because he's so efficient I read a report about you over dinner, and now I know… well, everything that's in the public domain."

Martin was stunned.

"But why on Earth did you want to know about me?"

"Because you do stick out, and I make it my business to find allies in difficult areas such as this tiny village. They seem not unlike that comic book village of Gauls, standing alone undefeated by the Roman Empire... Asterix? Magic potion?"

Martin had no idea what Gauls or potions she was talking about, but he did notice the "they seem" as opposed to "you seem," by which she had excluded him from the village.

"I don't know what Gauls you mean, though of course they are of Celtic descent in these parts, and they definitely don't like outsiders," replied Martin, "…you will not make many friends here." Martin, knowing the woman was up against much of the village, felt a bit sorry for her. Isolated as she was, she did remind him of his start here, before Louisa, and how dreadfully alone he had been.

"Well," replied Ms. Williams rather archly, however, "I'm not planning to move here, so no harm done. I just need to convince people that we are bringing a great, convenient place to shop, and offering jobs. Then off I go happily back to London."

Martin looked at her for a moment and then lowered his eyes, struck by the thought that once he might have envied this woman. But not now. His family was the core of his existence now, so moving back to London had stopped occurring to him as an option a long time ago. He was sure though that that did not make him a villager…

Ms. Williams interpreted Martin's meditative expression, however, precisely as a longing for being elsewhere, as if he were dreaming himself back in London as well. She was seeking to link up with the man, and saw hooks where they did not exist.

At that moment they saw Bert Large ambling his way towards them and, though Martin was never eager to converse with Bert, this time he thought maybe Bert would get this platinum blonde talking machine off his back.

"I did not mean to eavesdrop, but we were pretty close… "said Bert. "The doc here doesn't even know it, or won't admit it, but… though he's really different from us, you could say he is… almost one of us by now. He'll never learn to go with the flow, but… over the years he's helped more people in the village than anyone I know, so… how do you say it? Honorary citizen? That's what he is."

Martin looked very perplexed by this speech, and Ms. Williams said: "Only Portwenn is not a country that can bestow honorary citizenships, Mr…?"

"Bert Large, miss, of Large Cornish Whiskey."

"Ah, indeed? Well Mr. Large, glad to meet you," said Ms. Williams immediately shifting to business mode. "Once the King's Mart hypermarket has received the go ahead from Parish Council we will contact you about ordering Large Cornish Whiskey for the local products booth."

"Thank you miss, but… Large Cornish Whiskey is not a hypermarket product. It is produced in relatively small quantities, for connoisseurs," Bert explained kissing his bunched fingertips, "we have a niche market that does very well. We could not possibly mass-produce to sell in supermarkets. Won't do, oh no… Though if you want to order a case for your personal use, I can always take an order, miss."

"I see… Are all the local businessmen going to be this hostile, Mr. Large?" asked Ms. Williams raising one of her very pretty eyebrows.

"I couldn't be sure, but… yes, very likely."

"And so there is no way we can have your vote in Parish Council, Mr. Large? Any enticement we could offer? We would really like to do business with Large Cornish Whiskey in one way or another."

"See miss, here in Portwenn… we don't like to be bought by you big London… London… never mind, miss, and… ah, I hear the ambulance," Bert concluded gladly escaping from the verbal trouble he had created for himself. Penhale arrived to confirm: "Ambulance is here doc. We did it again, hey, the dynamic duo!"

"What?" asked Ms. Williams very surprised, putting her hand on Martin's sleeve. "Doctor, you sing?"

"Of course not!" huffed Martin. He shrugged her off and stepped outside immediately. Penhale, as ever, was left behind with a disconsolate air about him, then Ms. Williams asked: "What sort of duo did you mean then?"

"Oh, keeping the village safe and sound, the doc and I, that's what we do," boasted Penhale with an air of self-importance. Bert shook his head and said: "Joe… when will you ever admit that to yourself? The doc is not interested in your… duo. He's not the chummy type, you should have figured that out by now."

"I'll have you know, the doc and I are rather good friends," said Joe to Bert with an offended air about him. Ms. Williams gave him a very skeptical look, while Bert chuckled and said: "Let's just say that you and I, and Al, and quite a few other people _are_ the doc's friends, but he's never going to see us that way. Not his way. Though some part of him knows it, I think."

Penhale was saddened by this speech, and shook his head, like a child robbed of his favorite toy.

"No," he said, "the doc will see it at some point, he will."

Ms. Williams, who had listened to this conversation with interest, became ever more convinced that Martin was not happy in this community. He might indeed welcome a diversion. She went outside and saw Martin giving instructions in his usual commanding tone, which only whetted Ms. Williams' appetite even more.

When Martin was clearly ready to leave Ms. Williams followed him a couple of steps: "Doctor Ellingham? I meant it earlier, you do seem to need… someone to talk to perhaps?"

And she put a hand on his sleeve again, with a concerned look.

Having lost any patience he'd had in store that night, and really wanting his home now, Martin said rather harshly: "I'm fine Cruella, goodnight," and he went off at a brisk pace hoping very much she would not follow. She did not. She stood there with a little smile thinking: "Cruella again, ah, you naughty man…"

On the pub threshold there stood Bert, watching this brief scene, catching Ms. Williams trying to catch the doc. He shook his head and thought Ms. Williams had no chance with the doc, and no chance to make any friends in the village either. Strange to remember that when he had first moved to Portwenn the doc had been just as much an alien in the village as Ms. Williams now. It was true though, what Bert had said to Ms. Williams, the doc really was like a sort of alien hero who had saved so many lives locally that he had in effect been made into an honorary citizen. Still alien, but accepted and appreciated nonetheless, whether he knew it or not.

This train of thought brought Bert back to his personal musings of late: even the doc seemed to have a clearer place in Portwenn now than he did. Bert, though a native, did not know how to belong to the village anymore. When he had been poor, struggling every day to feed Al and himself, to keep their business going, full of debts, having to make do on the basis of half lies and little tricks… back then he had had no time or cause to ask himself about his place in the village. Now that he was successful though, now that he had some real money, and was a Parish Councilor… was he still the same old Bert? With no fight to fight, what was he? What could he look forward to? What was his place in the village now? He did not know, and asked himself for the hundredth time whether he still belonged, and how. Bert shook his head and mumbled to himself, much perplexed.

The Platt was empty, the pub was closing, and Bert heard the publican say: "Got to shut the door Bert."

"Yeah, I'm going home."

"Bert… you reckon the London lady has got the hots for the doc?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" said Bert. They looked at each other and burst out laughing at the thought of the doc pursued by Ms. Williams.

Bert said his goodnight and started slowly walking home, not having forgotten his own predicament, but definitely more amused.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 [1]**

The next morning at breakfast Louisa thought it best to broach the subject of her role in the campaign against the King's Mart hypermarket. She knew it was going to be difficult to persuade Martin that she was the right spokesperson for their advocacy group, but better to tell sooner than later.

"Martin, you met Arthur Davis yesterday. Man with MS?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"Oh yes, we were at Portwenn Primary at the same time. Smart man. He was always smarter than all of us. He got a free place at Rugby School, and then on to Cambridge. Then he became this great barrister."

"Yes, he seemed like the rare patient with a brain."

"Martin!" exclaimed Louisa, but she was so used to these comments from Martin that she let it go straightaway. "Arthur is going to help our campaign to stop the King's Mart hypermarket plan."

"Good. That will keep him active, and if he helps maybe you'll have less to do with it," replied Martin.

"No, not really."

"No?" said Martin looking at her questioningly.

"Hmm… Arthur and Beth suggested I become our spokesperson. We need someone energetic and determined."

Martin was immediately annoyed, and it showed in his grimace: "Louisa, but don't you have enough to do already? You are energetic and determined, we all know that, but… we already are tired every day, both of us working rather hard at our jobs and keeping up professionally… it might mean you get busy also after hours with this advocacy group… I don't know that it is even worth it."

"It's not worth it? Why ever not?" asked Louisa rather piqued.

"Because King's Mart promises to create jobs, it will be convenient to have a large hypermarket so close to home, and the Parish Council would be fools… to disallow this investment in the area." He regretted the word fools as soon as he said it, but it was too late.

"So we, most of us Portwenn residents, are fools? Including me? So if I'm the spokesperson I'll be the chief of all fools, won't I? Then you have a fool for a wife, Martin!" Louisa exclaimed with some anger in her voice.

"Louisa, I did not mean it that way, sorry. You are not a fool. What I meant is that King's Mart has a very convincing case to make. That Cruella seems… very competent."

"Nigella Williams," said Louisa, very pointedly.

James started singing and tapping on the table to the famous cartoon tune:

 _Cruella De Vil_

 _Cruella De Vil_

 _If she doesn't scare you_

 _No evil thing will_

"Shh, James," said Louisa.

"Sorry."

"Nigella, whatever," said Martin, "she's a trained professional. She'll be determined and very well prepared. She won't be intimidated by anyone. Do you really want to fight her?"

"Yes, she doesn't scare me at all!"

"Yeah mum! Kick Cruella in…"

"James!" said Martin sternly.

"I wasn't going to say anything bad, dad."

"I hope not."

"Sorry."

"Martin," continued Louisa, "they might create some jobs around here, but all the small retailers in town will have to close shop, and that will destroy the livelihood of quite a few families. And the location they are proposing is a total eyesore that would be very bad for tourism. So they would impact the local economy and community in a very big way, and by and large not in a good way. "

"And you are the only one who can go around making speeches about this?"

"Not the only one, no, but I'm sure I can do it well. I believe in it. King's Mart is going to kill our village!"

Martin sighed: "I am not convinced of that, but I hope the Council will make an informed decision, and… I also hope the children and I will be able to see you once in a while in the next few weeks," he concluded with a mixture of sadness and disappointment in his voice.

"Martin… I won't do it if you are going to make a big fuss about it, or mope each time I go to a meeting. I do not want King's Mart to come between us."

Martin was silent for a few moments then said: "I should not prevent you from doing something that your… good citizen's conscience tells you to do… No. Go ahead if you feel so strongly about it."

"Well…" said Louisa dubiously, as this was exactly what she had expected: not really a fight, but a sort of sad, resigned acquiescence from Martin. "We'll see how it develops, and if I find it does not work for us, for our family… then I'll step down. We'll play it by ear, OK Martin?"

Martin looked up and made an effort to soften his features and briefly nodded. He was displeased, he felt his tranquil family routine was being upset and he did not like it at all. Down deep he recognized that Louisa's anti-King's Mart activism would be just a temporary inconvenience, but there were unpleasant sensations in him which he could not easily name, that made Louisa's commitment to this cause difficult to swallow. He sat there silently eating his breakfast, while Louisa and the children engaged in some idle chit-chat about the 101 Dalmatians cartoon.

Martin was uncharacteristically trying to understand himself, to figure out what was making him so uncomfortable. He was not going to like Louisa going out several evenings, but that was not a major issue, he'd spend those evenings with the children. He did not care too much one way or the other about King's Mart, as he could see both sides of the issue, or so he thought. It was… that Louisa would be spending a lot of time and energy working on an issue he did not really feel involved in, that did not belong to him, because… because he could not tell himself that he, Martin Ellingham, belonged to Portwenn. He didn't, he never could, he told himself. But it hurt, it really hurt that he could not be a part of something so important to Louisa, that he would have to feel alienated from an issue that was so central to the lives of all the people he saw every day, and especially the people he loved, his family. Rationally Martin understood this was something he could not allow really to disturb his marriage or his family, but he was upset he could not just make his feelings go away. He would, however, endeavor not to let them spill out, he would not trouble Louisa with his distress.

When he was done eating, not knowing exactly how to behave, and as he needed to start seeing patients shortly, Martin got up, walked to his wife, leaned down, and asked softly: "No hard feelings?"

"No, no hard feelings," she said and patted his arm as he turned to go. He passed the back of his fingers on James' and Joanie's cheeks by way of a parting caress and was gone.

"Mum?" asked Joanie.

"Yes?"

"That was not a quarrel, was it?"

"No love, it wasn't. Years ago we would have had a bad row over something like this, but not anymore."

"What's different now mum?" asked James, a self-appointed policeman of this marriage.

"We just know each other and our feelings a lot better now, that's all."

"Good… And mum? I really don't like Cruella. She thinks she's better than us."

"Got it in one, James. She does think that way, I'm sure."

"You need to make her change her mind mum."

Louisa had a little smile then: "I am definitely going to try."

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – [2]**

While the Ellinghams were eating their breakfast, Ms. Williams was being driven to the local gym. The gym was a new small business that Clive Tishell had opened the year before to serve both tourists and locals wanting to exercise. He fixed an old barn that had a nice view of the sea and transformed it into a gym. Mrs. Tishell then decided to start an aerobics class populated mostly by obese middle-aged women who had been ordered by Doc Martin to lose weight. Mrs. Tishell of course always delighted in helping Doctor Ellingham keep the people of Portwenn as healthy as possible. She had procured all sorts of books and tapes and led the group in the exercise routine all days except Sundays, early in the morning before opening the pharmacy. Anyone could join the class, and Ms. Williams thought it might be amusing to see what sort of aerobics the local bumpkins did. Ms. Williams' knee was getting better, and she assumed she would be able to exercise.

When Ms. Williams arrived she found a group of women chatting and getting ready for their routine.

"Good morning," said Mrs. Tishell quite loudly to attract her students' attention, "time to stretch. Remember what the doctor told you last month Rose, you would not have pulled your calf muscle if you had stretched properly."

"Yes Sally," answered Rose, who was heavy-set and short, so that she looked rather like the antithesis of Ms. Williams. "God forbid I ever did something the doc doesn't like again, he might spank me this time," she sniggered, and so did all the other women except Mrs. Tishell. Though Rose had said this innocently, just because the doc was notoriously used to scolding his disobeying patients, Ms. Williams was startled and misunderstood. She took the remark about spanking as ridiculous with reference to Rose herself, but given that all the women immediately laughed with a knowing air, also as a joke alluding to the doctor's inclinations, as she supposed. "So," thought Ms. Williams, "the good doctor must be rather prone to these Freudian slips of his."

The women started stretching all their muscles according to a specific routine.

"Ah, last time I went to see the doc," said a white-haired older woman whose fleshy thighs and bottom wobbled under her tight gym pants, "he was all quiet and off thinking about something, he didn't yell at me not even once. I thought he might be sick."

"Nah," said Rose with a little smile and a puff as she stretched her legs, "he gets that way when he has a tiff with Louisa. He's thinking how to make up." Ms. Williams noted that this amused all the women as well, as they again exchanged knowing smiles and chuckles. So she ventured to ask a question as innocently as she could.

"Why," said Ms. Williams, "does the doctor not get along with his wife?"

At that the women, who had done their best to pretend the infamous London intruder from King's Mart wasn't actually there, all turned to look at her.

"Oh, you know," said Rose, "usual husband and wife tiffs. Not like before."

"Like what before?"

"Like a lot of splitting and getting back together."

"Yes, always problems between those two," sighed Mrs. Tishell, "I always thought they weren't really meant for each other, you know? Not soul mates."

"Well…," ventured Ms. Williams, "he does seem different from the rest of the local population. Is that it, he never got really used to the place?"

"No, oh no," declared Mrs. Tishell. "Being from London is not a reason that you cannot find a soul mate here. For instance, the doctor and I have always had a marvelous professional relationship, sharing scientific information and such," and here Mrs. Tishell had a very revealing, dreamy expression, with wide eyes shining. "One does not have to come from London to have a brain, you know. No. They are just different, very different, Doctor Ellingham and his wife. "

"But… has he ever tried to get back to London?" inquired Ms. Williams, suppressing an ironic smile at Mrs. Tishell's obvious admiration for the doc.

"Many years ago, yes," said Rose quickly, because the conversation might go where it would not be good for Sally to reminisce. "But Louisa would find it really hard to move, so they stay here. And I think he's gotten more used to the place than he knows."

Then the class started in earnest and they all had to expend their energy to execute their routine rather than to gossip about the doc. But Ms. Williams was confirmed in her mistaken opinion that Doctor Ellingham was not happily married, and probably sought pleasures of a sort his wife would not provide, something which was not uncommon in her experience. He might definitely appreciate having some fun on the side with a sophisticated fellow Londoner. She just had to create some opportunities, she concluded.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – [3]**

Martin was reviewing some patients' notes in his consulting room right before his midday break when there was a light knock on his door.

"Come in!" he called, hoping this would not materialize into a delay of his lunch.

Morwenna came in and said: "Doc, Al is here, about that computer software for your research."

"Ah, right, send him in."

Though Martin usually was not very observant of Morwenna's moods, he did notice she had a rather unhappy air about her. That sensation was confirmed when Al entered the consulting room also bearing a rather disgruntled expression. Martin surmised something must be amiss in their relationship, the nature of which he had never fully understood. Whereas his relationship with Louisa had in the past been very publicly an on-and-off affair, Al and Morwenna did appear to be on all the time, and had been for years now, except in a tepid enough manner that they did not seem to be progressing into any particular direction. Martin liked Al, and over the years had come to care for and appreciate Morwenna, who by now knew how to do her job at the surgery very expertly indeed. Martin therefore felt a bit sorry that these two younger people did not seems to know very well what they wanted, though he quickly told himself that it was really none of his business.

Al came in and said: "Hello doc. You asked me to help out with your database?"

"Yes, I did."

"And… you told me to come one day this week at lunch time, during your break… so here I am doc."

"Right… I'm hungry. Have you had lunch yet?"

"No."

"We can talk while I make some sandwiches, come through to the kitchen."

"Thanks doc, come to think of it I am rather hungry myself."

Once in the kitchen, while Martin busied himself preparing a simple lunch, Al asked: "So what is it you are trying to do with this database doc?"

"We have collected, and are still collecting, data about child obesity from many surgeries and schools in Cornwall. We have quite a few rather large data files, and Morwenna has done a lot of the data compilation. I would like to generate a number of graphics illustrating the data and insert them in the paper I'm publishing. I think I could probably figure out how to do it myself if I had time to sit in front of the computer, but I don't. I'll show you the database and if you know how to do the graphs then you can show Morwenna and check she does it correctly… Or you can show me, if it can be done relatively quickly."

"As you know doc, not all graphs are the same. Some type of data is best shown on a bar graph, some other on a pie graph, and so on. I will take a look at the data files and see which type of graph seems to work best, but then you'll have to be the one to decide the sort of graph that's best in each case. I could show Morwenna, I'm sure she could learn how to do it, but… I'd rather not, not right now."

Martin couldn't help himself, he did look up from his plate with an inquisitive look, though he did not ask the question that hovered in the air between them.

"Yeah," said Al, answering anyway, "we are having some problems… say doc, you've had your share of that with Louisa… How do you get them to calm down and listen to reason?"

"Them?"

"Women."

"Ah… I'm hardly an expert Al. The only woman I really know is Louisa, and even now there are times I have no idea why she gets upset about things I say or do."

"Right… But what do you do when you don't understand? You ask her to explain? You apologize even though you do not even know about what?"

Martin nodded vigorously and said: "Yes, do apologize, always, even if you have no idea what you are apologizing about. Louisa understands I don't always know why I'm apologizing, but she appreciates that nonetheless. Completely illogical, but it works."

"I'll do that then… I am just trying to point out that we should make more of a commitment doc, I'd like to settle down, maybe have kids… Morwenna always takes my suggestions either as meaningless mumbles or… like I'm trying to take advantage of her or something."

"That makes no sense at all," said Martin.

"Exactly, no sense at all," confirmed Al. They were silent for a little while, eating their sandwiches, both meditating on the mysteries of female behaviour. Then Martin asked: "Mumbles or taking advantage?"

"Yeah."

"Well… you do mumble a bit Al."

"I know, but doc, I do try not to mumble when I explain to Morwenna that I would like for us to be more serious with each other. The taking advantage part… I really don't know where that comes from."

Martin thought about that for a little while then said: "In the past I did say things to Louisa that she took to mean something completely different from what I meant. She was really angry. It still happens sometimes."

"I can believe that."

"Could it be that your… point of view is not clear because… you do mumble, and… since you are not clearly saying what you want Morwenna thinks you are in some way taking advantage of her?"

Al stared at Martin for a few moments, then slowly nodded and said: "Hey doc, I think you're on to something. That might be it. Maybe she does not understand I want to marry her."

"So you do want to marry her?"

"Yeah, that's what I've been telling you all along doc."

"No you haven't. You said you wanted some unspecified commitment, maybe kids, but you did not use the word marriage at all."

"It was not clear to you either then? That I want to marry her?"

"Well, no," said Martin, "it was not clear at all."

"That's it then, I need to be clearer as to what I mean."

"It's called proposing, Al."

"Proposing? Like the old fashioned thing, with a ring and all?"

"Yes, that. I know it's a bit corny, but if I'm to judge by Louisa… Yes, a formal proposal with a ring would definitely clarify your position. Even if the proposal itself comes out in a mumble, the ring will speak for itself."

"Right, that's brilliant doc. You don't give yourself enough credit, you do understand women."

Martin shook his head, in denial, but was glad to observe that he knew at least more than Al.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – [4]**

Jasmine was still attached to Joanie at school, but she was starting to interact with some of the other children as well, chiefly Melanie Holmes and James. As these two filled much of Joanie's life, Jasmine could not have easily avoided them even if she had wanted to. But, as it turned out, they were rather easy to accept. Melanie was a bossy girl generally, but she was only seven after all, and as Jasmine was a sort of exotic novelty Melanie was all smiles. James was Joanie's brother and clearly thinking to behave like a man taking Jasmine under his protection, which she had no difficulty perceiving, and which she found amusing and endearing.

Jasmine did not really understand why she could not speak. She knew she wanted to, yet she found it impossible to utter any sound. But she felt she could learn words in this new language, English, her father's language, nonetheless. One of the teachers gave her an alphabet workbook and asked Joanie and Melanie to sound out the letters for Jasmine. Jasmine then copied the entire alphabet many times and was able to memorize most of the sounds. She also memorized the sound and letter combination of quite a few of the basic, everyday words which Joanie and Melanie tried to teach her from a list provided by Louisa, such as man, woman, boy, girl, dog, house, loo, eat, walk, run, sleep and the like.

Towards the end of the day Jasmine decided to draw a picture. This happened in James' art class, under Beth Holmes supervision. Luckily it was not a picture about war: those images Jasmine had buried quite deep. It was a picture of two different kinds of sheep, separated by a black line that ran vertically across the paper. On the right side there was a smaller sheep with a dark white coat with some light brown coloring mixed in. This sheep stood in a landscape that contained rocks and sand as well as some green grass. On the left side there was a picture of a larger sheep whose coat was much thicker, longer and whiter. This sheep stood on a very green field, with the sea in the background. Beth smiled and said it was a very well executed picture, and then tried to figure out what Jasmine was trying to portray. James helped.

"Mrs. Holmes, this sheep on the left looks like the sort some farmers have around here, they have lots and lots of thick wool on them," said James.

"You think it's a local sheep?"

"Maybe. The other sheep is in a different place from here, there is no sea and it is too… yellow and brown to be here."

"James, I think you are on to something." Beth left for a moment and came back with an atlas. She opened up a page which was a map of the whole world. Beth showed the map to Jasmine, pointed at the local sheep and then at a very small Cornwall a few times, while repeating "sheep" and "Cornwall." Then she pointed at the other sheep and looked at Jasmine with a questioning look. Jasmine understood. She put her finger on Iraq. The atlas words were in English, but Jasmine knew where her country of origin was located.

"I think Jasmine is showing us that sheep in Iraq are a bit different from here," said Beth quite pleased.

"But not all sheep in Cornwall look like that," observed James quite puzzled. He felt there was more to this picture than a geography lesson of sorts. In fact Jasmine seemed to want to say something but couldn't, she looked at a loss, frustrated. Then she added something to each picture: a house and a white haired man and woman on the left; a house, a man with a turban and two women on the right, one woman with her hair covered, the other with dark hair, uncovered.

"Ah, I think these two on the left could be Mr. and Mrs. Rowe! So those on the right must be her family in Iraq," said James. This made more sense. He pointed at the white-haired man on the left and said: "Mr. Rowe? Grandfather?" Jasmine nodded at "Mr. Rowe." James repeated: "Grandfather," pointing at the man in the picture and at Jasmine back and forth. Then he pointed at the man with the turban on the right and asked: "Grandfather?" Jasmine had a sad look now, but understood and nodded. Then she wrote R under Mr. Rowe's picture and looked questioningly at James. James asked Beth, who was totally fascinated by the birth of this picture language between the two children: "How do you spell Rowe, Mrs. Holmes?"

"R.O.W.E."

James took the pencil and finished writing Rowe. Jasmine then wrote a G, showing that she had learned her alphabet sounds well this day. James understood immediately and wrote the rest of the word she wanted: Grandfather. Jasmine then wrote presumably the name of her Iraqi grandfather on the right in Arabic, and under that she copied the word Grandfather.

James clapped: "That's beautiful Jasmine! Both your grandfathers have sheep!"

Jasmine had a small smile, her new friends seemed to have understood her. Joanie smiled too and said: "Jasmine must feel a little bit like home then with the Rowe sheep."

"So," said practical James, "they are really not so different from us over there in Iraq."

"Right James, people are the same everywhere, only with different cultures," said Beth and moved to another group of pupils.

"Daddy does cultures," said Joanie.

"I don't think Mrs. Holmes meant dad's ghastly Petri dishes with mold in them, Joanie," replied James.

As soon as Beth was gone Jasmine furtively extracted something from her bosom. It was a worn envelope. From this she extracted a photograph and showed it to Joanie and James. She pointed at the beautiful, dark-haired woman in the photo, standing next to Major Rowe, and then at the equally dark-haired woman in her drawing.

"Your mum," said Joanie simply, "very pretty, like you."

Jasmine nodded, looked intently at the photo for a while and then put it away again.

When Mr. Rowe and Mrs. Rowe came to pick up Jasmine at the end of the school day Louisa made sure to show them the drawing and explain what it meant. Both grandparents smiled happily when they understood.

"Well, that explains something," said Mr. Rowe, "Jasmine here has been spending a lot of time with our sheep, grooming them, helping feed the lambs, hugging them and what not. We thought she was just finding more comfort among animals than people, but the sheep must make her feel at home."

"It's an extraordinary coincidence," observed Louisa, "both her grandfathers raising sheep."

"Well, my husband does not want to believe it," said Mrs. Rowe still looking at Jasmine's picture, enchanted, "but there is divine providence at work here."

Mr. Rowe rolled his eyes, but wisely concluded that if his wife was happy to thank God, well, he'd let her be. Then he said: "Louisa… If your committee to stop King's Mart hasn't got to it yet… a big market near the coastal path is going to kill some of my sheep, and they're a rare breed, Cornwall and Devon Longwools. They cross the street grazing and locals know it, even the doc, and let them through, but a lot more cars coming and going into the market would kill some of them for sure… they're not so smart… yet each animal is worth a fair amount. And… we have a number of debts on the farm, Louisa… we cannot afford to lose any animals."

"Good point Mr. Rowe. No, we had not included danger to local farm animals on our list, but we are going to now. Thank you, every little bit helps. But I am very sorry to hear about your debts."

"I hope that's temporary. Having Jasmine gives us much more of an incentive to fix the farm, make it profitable… we let it go after Jonathan…"

"Have you tried to get a loan from a bank?" asked Louisa.

"Yes, but they want to mortgage the property and the farm has been in our family for generations… I don't want to risk losing it to the bank. It's all for Jasmine now."

"I see," replied Louisa. "Well I don't know much about mortgages, unfortunately, but we'll do what we can to make sure your sheep are safe from cars at least."

"Thanks Louisa, for working on the committee… and for Jasmine."

"Shh, don't mention it Mr. Rowe, we're very happy to help," concluded Louisa with one of her warm smiles.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – [5]**

A few nights later Louisa walked down Roscarrock Hill pensively next to Martin. All day long she had been deeply involved in budgetary questions, of the sort that made you hope that money had far more elastic qualities than it did. No matter which way you turned the figures around, there never seemed to be enough to cover all the school's needs, at least not if you had to maintain appropriate nutritional standards, organize trips and sustain a viable art and music program. It was becoming ever more necessary to lean on parents, those who could afford it at least, to donate some money. Louisa was not a Head Teacher because she loved fundraising, she told herself rather disgruntled. Yet there appeared to be no way out, other than cuts which would displease everyone, children, parents and teachers alike. What to do?

Martin as usual got ahead of his wife every three steps or so, and then either slowed down or stopped altogether to let her catch up. After all these years his legs had not become any shorter, and his general desire to rush through any social gathering was evident in a gait that suggested hurry, and lack of patience. He was going to attend this particular school board meeting about finances because he felt it was his parental duty to do so, but there was no need to pretend he would enjoy it.

"Martin! Could we please slow down? I am going to get there sweaty and out of breath if we keep this pace."

"Louisa, perhaps you need to find the time to exercise more. You should not get out of breath at your age covering such a short distance."

"Martin! I am not covering the distance, you are making me run it! We are not late, so why are we going so fast?"

"This is how I walk, I'm not running."

"AH! Go ahead then, I'll walk by myself," said Louisa irritated by Martin's matter-of-fact obtuseness on this issue.

Martin then stopped and waited, but Louisa kept going, swinging her bag, her pony tail and everything else she had that would swing.

"Louisa, sorry, I will try to take shorter steps. Maybe you can take my arm and it might help."

She stopped, took a calming breath, sighed and said: "Only if you do not pull me along, Martin. Please. This shouldn't be so hard, should it?"

"No. You are right. I just would like for this meeting to be already over, so I am being impatient. Sorry."

Having said that, he started taking exaggeratedly short steps, which made his gait so odd that Louisa could not help but laugh.

"What now?" he asked, flustered.

"Nothing, never mind, we're almost there. But you can be quite funny, Martin."

Completely nonplussed by her laughter and seemingly incongruent combination of statements, Martin shrugged and filed this as just one more incomprehensible Louisa detail. He had lost count of those ages ago.

When they entered the conference room at the Village Hall they found most of the other Portwenn Primary teachers, as well as many parents, school board members, and… Ms. Williams. "Why is this woman always in my way?" thought Martin. "What's that minx doing here?" thought Louisa. Martin went to sit on one of the chairs reserved for the audience, while Louisa sat at the conference table.

Ms. Williams was standing next to the table talking with Mr. Bowman, one of the school board governors. Louisa looked at Ms. Williams and despite her better judgment felt immediately diminished. The woman looked positively stunning. Tonight she was wearing a tight black leather pantsuit cut in very stylish fashion, set off by a white silk blouse and an intricate necklace that, like everything this woman wore, must have cost a fortune. Mr. Bowman was obviously spellbound, while Ms. Williams moved and gestured like a woman used to pulling all the strings, completely in control and ready for anything, a consummate business executive. Louisa herself was wearing a nice dress, as ever, but knew all too well that her days of wearing anything as tight as that pantsuit were definitely over. Martin did make her feel beautiful, she was sure by now that he would still be telling her that she was beautiful in their eighties and nineties. But that did not change the fact that Ms. Williams eclipsed every other woman around her, and probably the only one in the hall not to notice was Martin himself. Louisa did look at Martin to see whether he was by any chance admiring Ms. Williams, but of course he was instead very busy removing from his jacket some microscopic dust particles visible only to him. Louisa sighed and tried to tell herself that she could hold her own with Ms. Williams, but right then she could not really believe it.

After a few minutes Mr. Bowman called the meeting to order, and quite soon it was Louisa's turn to speak. She went over the school's budget, explaining each main expense category and how funds were falling short.

"Unless we receive more funding, or are able to collect from donors, we will have to cancel several planned trips, reduce supply purchases, and completely cancel the acquisition of new computers for each classroom."

Mr. Bowman, who was serving as moderator, cleared his voice and said: "Not an unusual situation Mrs. Ellingham, we have many schools experiencing similar difficulties. Unfortunately state funding is not going to increase, to the contrary. We are all being asked to apply ourselves to cuts, or fundraising, or both."

"None of which improves the work we do with the children in each classroom! We always have to try to improve education, but with all the financial pressure that is not so easy to do," lamented Louisa.

Mrs. Williams cleared her voice. "If I may?" she asked looking at Mr. Bowman.

"But of course, Ms. Williams."

"Good evening. I am Nigella Williams, King's Mart West Marketing Manager. I am here in Portwenn to supervise the last stages of preparation to present our plan to build a King's Mart hypermarket just outside the village. As you probably know Parish Council will vote on our plan shortly. Contrary to what many people believe, King's Mart desires to be well integrated in small communities, it seeks in fact to become part of the community by contributing in areas of need. That is why King's Mart, once established in this village, will set up a continuous fundraising system to benefit Portwenn Primary."

"Really? And how would that work?" asked an incredulous Louisa.

"The way it works is that first of all Portwenn Primary registers on the fundraising website which King's Mart supports. Secondly, any customers who wish to do so can register their debit cards online at this same website and choose Portwenn Primary as their beneficiary," answered Ms. Williams. "Then for every purchase made at King's Mart using these registered debit cards, King's Mart will turn 3 percent to Portwenn Primary. This benefit will become effective and continuous once purchases have reached the 3,000 pounds mark. This may seem like a lot, but in reality it is not. You have to consider that any friends or relatives you have around the country who shops at King's Mart can also register their debit cards and contribute to your school even from a distance. Thus reaching that 3,000 minimum is not as difficult as you might think."

Martin, who thought this scheme was not so bad, saw Louisa's coloring change, a sure sign she was becoming agitated over this seemingly generous proposal.

"So Ms. Williams," asked Louisa in a rather heated tone of voice, "you are saying that before we see any benefits we have to take 3,000 pounds off the pockets of local Portwenn businesses and put them into King's Mart already huge coffers… and we need to start advertising on your behalf with all our friends and relatives around the country so that you may sell even more everywhere?"

"But Mrs. Ellingham, you have to think it's fundraising, that's how it's done: you do ask locals, friends and family to buy this or that, and a portion of the earnings is turned to charity. So there is no getting around the asking," smirked Ms. Williams with the clear intent to make Louisa appear naive.

"What about forcing people to buy at your store then, instead of in the village?" rebutted Louisa in a clearly hostile manner at this point.

"Nobody is forcing anyone to do anything," replied Ms. Williams. "People can choose whether they want to buy say two kilos of potatoes at a village store and the school gets nothing from the local vendor, or whether they want to buy it at King's Mart and a small amount will go to Portwenn Primary. One small amount here, and one small amount there, all put together could buy one of those computers, or pay for one of those school trips."

Ms. Williams said this in a rather condescending manner which even Martin could perceive, despite his general disregard for social niceties. He could almost hear the part Ms. Williams did not say but was clearly thinking: "You would know all this if you were not such a country bumpkin." And how could Martin almost hear her think this? Because he had thought this himself so many times about so many of the villagers that it had become second nature. But he did not care to have his own wife addressed that way. For the first time he actually had an inkling of how Louisa must feel each time he disparaged the village and its inhabitants for being backward, provincial, ignorant, and idiotic. And Ms. Williams was not finished yet.

"Mrs. Ellingham, what is _your_ fundraising plan then, if this one does not suit you?"

Martin felt really sorry seeing Louisa's expression passing from angry, to dismayed, to dejected: she did not have a plan and would have to admit it.

"We do not yet have a fundraising plan, we are still discussing what's best for the school." Louisa felt really angry with herself at this point, for not being better prepared. True, she had not known that Ms. Williams would be at the meeting, but that did not change the fact that right now she did not have sufficient arguments to rebut King's Mart fundraising suggestion. Though Louisa felt very strongly that the arrival of a hypermarket in Portwenn would forever change the village, right then instead of feeling ready to battle Ms. Williams, she felt defeated, and it showed. Martin was disappointed with himself for not being able to intervene to say something that could help Louisa. But some help did come, from a source Martin had not expected.

From the back of the room they heard a man clear his voice. Everyone turned to look in that direction and saw Bert Large who, since his whiskey business had taken off, had become not quite elegant, but generally better dressed and less heavy than he had been in his days as a plumber and restaurateur. Bert made a sign with his heavy hand to indicate he wanted to speak.

"Go ahead, Councilor Large," said Mr. Bowman.

"This whole speech by Miss Williams… I think it's rather offensive."

"Offensive?" said Ms. Williams, "How did I offend you, Mr. Large?"

"Not me, miss, but our community. What do you know about our community? Nothing. How can you come here, all the way from London, and pretend to know more about how we should run our business here and our school even? You have no idea how this community works and how we help each other in times of need. The small businesses are the backbone of this village, so it is quite offensive to hear you say that we do not give back."

"So… how _do you_ give back? Is there a Large Cornish Whiskey school fundraiser that we do not know about?" asked Ms. Williams, her tone ironic.

"Miss," replied Bert, "I walked the streets of Portwenn my entire life struggling to make a living, so if there's anyone who knows what it's like to have a small business and keep your head above water, that's me. I know for a lot of the small business owners in the village it is difficult to make ends meet, so they are not able to make donations. Large Cornish Whiskey, however, can do it. We have not set up a fund raising scheme for the school, but we will. I don't think I need to consult my business partners to declare that 5 percent of each sale of Large Cornish Whiskey will go to the school, and starting from ZERO, not 3,000 pounds. That might not solve all the school's problems, but it's a start. We do know how to take care of our own, miss, we don't need London hotshots to come tell us what to do."

Louisa sent Bert her warmest smile. There was not much that Ms. William could reply to this, other than what she did say: "Well, as successful as your business is, Mr. Large, it won't be able to contribute as much as King's Mart."

But Bert knew his people, they would not be bought by King's Mart: the villagers really did not like big city strangers who thought they knew better than the locals how things should be run in Portwenn.

Martin had found that out many years ago at his expense as well. He had been taught some hard lessons about what you could and could not do in Portwenn. But while his effort had been to bring much better health care to the village, in the long run immensely benefiting the community, King's Mart would bring nothing as lofty, as they were obviously just seeking to make money. To his utter surprise Martin felt he sympathized with Bert's point of view, and not with his fellow Londoner, Ms. Williams, despite the fact that the villagers were treating her no better than he had been upon his arrival in Portwenn.

When the meeting was over Ms. Williams tried to catch Martin's attention, but he did not see her. He was seeing nothing but Louisa's disheartened countenance. Failing in anything that had to do either with the school or the village was very hard for her, and this was failing both ways. He was quick to her side and, uncharacteristically, as soon as they started walking back home he put his arm around her shoulders and brought her closer to himself. This time he had no difficulty keeping her slower pace, he was so intent on trying to communicate support with this modest bodily contact.

"I'm sure you'll come up with a better fundraising plan than King's Mart Louisa, I know you can do it," he told her with as much conviction as he could muster.

"Oh Martin, I have been thinking about it for quite some time, but I have not been able to come up with anything half as convincing as what that minx proposed! Martin… you married an idiot!"

"Ah no, Louisa! Look at me: NO! You know me better than that, I would never have married an idiot!"

Louisa looked at him for a moment and then actually burst into laughter, which until a moment before she would have thought impossible. He was startled.

"So the proof that I'm not an idiot is the fact that you married me?" she asked.

"Well, it is _one_ obvious proof at least."

She laughed again: "I love you Martin. Thank you for being always so… Martin, and never really changing. I needed that."

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – [6]**

After the school board meeting Bert decided he would go talk to Ruth Ellingham. It was late, but he knew Ruth never went to bed early, she kept reading and writing sometimes till the wee small hours. He slowly made his way to Ruth's home and rang the bell.

Ruth was surprised to hear the doorbell, but having ascertained it was Bert, she opened the door wondering what the man might want at this hour. Bert had appeared rather subdued lately, which was his way when something was not right in his odd world. As a consequence she did not mind too much the interruption in her routine.

"Come in then," said Ruth, "let us have some of our fine whiskey together, sit down."

Bert sat on the couch and gladly accepted the small glass of straight whiskey which Ruth put in his hand.

"So, what is it?" asked Ruth sitting back on her favorite, very comfortable winged armchair.

"I come from the school board meeting. Poor Louisa. Miss Williams seemed ready to eat her alive."

"Ms. Williams was there?"

"Yeah, she was proposing a fundraising scheme for Portwenn Primary, when Louisa had none." Bert went on to explain the King's Mart scheme.

"Well, it might work, Ms. Williams is too clever by half if you ask me," commented Ruth.

"She disparaged the village business owners for not giving anything, when none of them are rich and several can barely make it to the end of the month, especially in winter… So… I had to make a pledge."

"Oh, what did you pledge?"

"Mmm… your money and mine, and Al's…. Five percent of every sale of Large Cornish Whisky for Portwenn Primary. If you don't agree it can come out of my share. I don't need it."

"No, neither do I. Well done Bert. I'm sure Al will go along as well. But… you don't look happy."

"I'm not… It's not enough. Ruth, all my life I wanted to become a successful businessman, and it came very late, but… now that I'm the respectable and well-to-do owner of a thriving company… I have no idea what to do with the money, it doesn't make me happy to have it. I am happy for Al of course, I no longer need to worry about my boy's future… but what is it for? I must tell you Ruth, I think I might have been happier when I had to struggle. Back then I always had some scheme to keep me busy, something to look forward to, you know? Now that I'm not the struggling Bert anymore, what am I? Where do I belong? I don't know!" and he gulped down the rest of his whisky.

"I see Bert. I did not expect this much introspection from you. But you know, this happens when you get older, you pass the torch. You are passing it to Al, and that's the way it should be."

"But I really don't feel old Ruth, not at heart I don't."

"Tell me Bert… All these disastrous money-making schemes you were always involved in… they kept you busy, active, right?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I've run out of schemes, of ideas, because I don't need to scheme anymore. And that's so… BORING!"

Ruth grinned at that. She poured one more measure of straight whiskey each and said:

"You know Bert, you may not need to scheme for yourself anymore, but other people still need to, or you can scheme for them."

Bert stared at the old lady with a bewildered expression. What on Earth was she talking about?

"What? I should think of business schemes for other people?"

"Unless you want to start another business for yourself…"

"Oh no, Large Cornish Whiskey gives me more than enough, and I cannot give up that security for Al's sake. No."

"Well then," said Ruth reasonably, "couldn't you help other people set up their own small business ventures? There are quite a few young people who would rather stay than leave for a job elsewhere if they could support themselves in the village."

"Don't I know, I spent most of my life struggling to stay in Portwenn."

"So I suggest to you the Albert Large Small Business Venture Fund," declared Ruth rather solemnly.

Another bewildered stare from Bert.

"How's that supposed to work?" he asked.

"Well…you could set up a sort of trust fund at a local bank and seek out small business proposals, from young local people, that you can then help finance. You could extend low-interest loans to support promising projects."

"Oh no, no interest at all Ruth. God, remember those loan sharks? Oh no, the Albert Large & Son Small Business Venture Fund will charge no interest whatsoever. We could advertise and set up a competition, the Fund will help finance small business ventures within Portwenn itself, that will be a sinquanon…"

" _Sine qua non_ , Bert. "

"Yes, that, the business must be located in the village and owned by locals. I think we need a barber and hair salon in the village, don't you?" and from there Bert launched into a long, rambling explanation about how and where to invest and which young people might be interested. He did not stop talking for half an hour, very excited, with that old sparkle in his eyes, and none of his recent melancholy.

"Bert," said Ruth suppressing a yawn with difficulty, "I really need to go to sleep now. I lost count how many glasses you consumed, but you can just crash in the guest room if you like."

Bert was silent for a few moments and then said: "Don't take this the wrong way Ruth, but… I love you, you saved my life! Again! You are a GENIUS! This is exactly what I need to do, and to show Miss Williams that we take care of our own in Portwenn, and we don't need any nasty Londoners to come tell us what to do!"

"Except a Londoner just told you what to do, Bert."

Taken aback Bert said: "Yeah, but, but… you're not nasty, Ruth!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – [1]**

Several evenings after the school board meeting Louisa offered to host the "No King's Mart in Portwenn" advocacy committee. The previous gathering had taken place at Beth Holmes' house and Louisa felt it was her turn. She also hoped that Arthur Davis could have a good conversation with Martin. While she had long since accepted the fact that Martin was not really interested in socializing and spending time with friends, Louisa still felt it would be nice for Martin to have someone to talk to other than herself and Ruth. Arthur was a very intelligent, highly educated man who could converse with Martin on a whole host of issues, and he actually appeared to like Martin's blunt honesty, which was an unexpected boon.

Predictably Martin planned to spend his time getting the children to bed, and then working on a clock in his consulting room. He really did not want to get involved in the "No King's Mart in Portwenn" effort, but he was still chagrined about not feeling the same way as Louisa on this issue, he did not like that uncomfortable distance between them.

Louisa had a little surprise in store for Martin, however. She had been talking to Ruth about the committee and had found that the old lady was herself quite opposed to the hypermarket. While Ruth could not be termed a local any more than Martin, she had indeed invested a considerable amount in the B&B at her sister Joan's old farm. Ruth thought that much of the success of the B&B and local tourist business in general was based on Portwenn's ability to preserve the look and feel of an old, small port town surrounded by a gloriously beautiful and unspoiled coast. A big hypermarket so close to the village wouldn't do. Thus Louisa had invited Martin's aunt to join the committee and attend the meeting, and Ruth had gladly accepted Louisa's invitation.

The Ellinghams' dinner was concluded by 19:30, with the kitchen table cleared and cleaned and the dishwasher softly rumbling in the background. Martin had gone upstairs with the children and attended their nightly routines, including the reading of books for both children, with Joanie falling asleep earlier and faster than James, as usual. Martin came downstairs a little before nine o'clock, and was about to sneak into his consulting room when he recognized, without chance of doubt, his aunt's voice saying: "The village meeting that King's Mart is organizing is more important than you seem to realize. Not all of Portwenn is behind us. Yet. Some are being captivated by the siren song of King's Mart jobs. Never mind the fact that those are poorly paid and frequently part-time jobs, it's just the word "jobs" that threatens to weaken our campaign." This speech, and his aunt's obvious addition to the committee, piqued Martin's interest, so he decided to go to the kitchen on a pretext of making some tea.

When Martin appeared at the kitchen door he was greeted by several voices at once with:

"Hello, Martin," "Evening Doctor," "Hello Doc!" "Hi love," this last from Louisa who was pleasantly surprised to see him. It saved her the effort to drag him from his clock. The "Hi love" did not go unheeded either, as Martin caught his wife's eye and gave her the tiniest nod, which coming from him in public was equivalent to a "Hi love" back.

Martin saw that besides the core anti-King's Mart committee, Louisa, Arthur, Beth and Al, and besides Ruth, Morwenna was also present. He wondered whether that meant Al and Morwenna had made up, though they did not look particularly happy.

"I see you have had tea. I am going to put the kettle on again, if anyone wants more…" said Martin.

A chorus of "yes, thank you," followed this and Martin busied himself at the counter.

"So Ruth, you think we should prepare a sort of counter-attack at the village meeting?" asked Louisa.

"I'm sure we have to," replied Ruth. "I hear they'll offer free drinks at the pub, so half the town will be there. Ms. Williams will deliver a forceful presentation, no doubt. It's the best opportunity to rebut their arguments in public, with a large audience."

Ruth noticed that at the mention of Ms. Williams' name Louisa's face had darkened.

"Anything wrong?" asked Ruth.

"No, Ms. Williams is just such a…minx!"

"What?"

"Oh, she's using any means to get people on King's Mart side. She throws money around and, I might add, uses her amazing looks on all the men!... She also has a fundraising plan for the school… and I don't," concluded Louisa with a rather disconsolate expression.

A brief silence followed that.

Martin cleared his voice: "The fundraising for the school is a different issue, and I'm sure Louisa will find a solution… But I think Ruth is right, to a number of villagers the opening of a hypermarket nearby may not sound so bad. Young unemployed people will see an opportunity there."

"That," intervened Arthur, "is an opportunity they'll have just as much if the hypermarket is farther removed from the coast and Portwenn, and closer to Wadebridge. They can certainly travel closer to Wadebridge for a job, can't they?"

"Well, that would be a point in your favor," conceded Martin.

"A point we will be sure to make, doctor," said Arthur grinning. "Have you any other arguments in support of the hypermarket that we can learn to rebut?"

"An obvious one you cannot rebut very well, I suspect: convenience," replied Martin. "The hypermarket would include a wide variety of goods in one place, all very near to us. People would no longer need to travel to Wadebridge, or further, to purchase a number of items which are not available here."

Louisa was amazed by Martin's eloquence: Martin's five sentences were tantamount to any other person's half-hour speech. Somehow Arthur's friendly lure seemed to be working on the usually reticent doctor.

"That is a good point, and one we do have to be able to speak against," replied Arthur. "One consideration comes to mind: we'd be trading shopping convenience for traffic congestion in and out of the village. How long do you take to drive to Wadebridge now?"

"About twenty minutes generally."

"The drive from say… the pub to the proposed location is five minutes with no traffic, but definitely more with traffic," calculated Arthur. "The alternate location we will propose at the Parish Council meeting is closer to Wadebridge and a fifteen minute drive, approximately. About ten minute difference. A ten minute convenience is not worth killing all the local business, yet that ten minute difference may be just what we need to keep the local stores open."

"The land proposed by King's Mart is considerably cheaper than the location you suggest closer to Wadebridge," replied Martin, the devil's advocate.

"Well, we cannot concern ourselves with that. King's Mart has a lot of money to invest, that will be their concern."

"They might threaten not to bring a hypermarket in the area at all," commented Martin.

"Good, their loss," concluded Arthur.

Martin gave Arthur a long look and almost a tiny smile: "Mr. Davids…"

"Davis," said Arthur, "and you should call me Arthur… Martin?"

"Fine, Arthur. I am pleased to see your cognitive powers have not been impaired."

"Some days are better than others, Martin. I do like it when someone keeps me sharp." Arthur was smiling broadly now: maybe they would never get Martin to agree with their campaign, but he certainly was not against it either. He seemed mostly concerned with the hard facts of the case, as opposed to sentimental reasons for keeping the local economy alive. And hard facts were what they needed, what would win them this battle. Thus Martin was helping, whether he realized it or not. Judging by Ruth's lopsided grin, she had just made the same consideration, though she was wisely silent about it.

"So… Morwenna, is it?" asked Arthur, changing the subject.

"Yes, Morwenna Newcross."

"Morwenna, Louisa tells me you offered to go door to door delivering flyers, is that right?"

"Yes, I can do it after work and on Saturday afternoons. Everyone knows me, not only 'cause the village is so small, but also 'cause I've worked so many years for the doc. People will open their doors and listen to me, I'm sure. I'll be happy to help."

"That's great, thank you Morwenna," said Arthur smiling at her, then turning to Al he asked: "How is the website coming along, Al?"

"Let's see… design is done, I just need the content. I am not that much of a writer. One of you learned people should send me content files and I can then upload the content on the website."

"I'll write the content," said Arthur, "circulate and then if we are all happy with it you can upload. I can do it tomorrow. I should do it tomorrow, in fact. It looks like I can start a new treatment the day after tomorrow and there may well be side effects. I may not be able to contribute much for several days after I start this new drug."

Martin was really surprised.

"Arthur…," said Martin, "I was going to ask about your visit to Truro today, but to say you can already start the day after tomorrow… That seems very quick indeed."

"I was surprised as well, but Dr. Lahm said he had enough information and test results about me already that he could bring me into the trial immediately. I knew I was coming here tonight, otherwise I would have called Martin, to let you know. Lahm said you should receive the drug, with instructions on how to administer it, tomorrow."

"That is… unheard of," commented Ruth "generally subjects in this type of drug trial must be carefully vetted beforehand."

"Right," said Martin. "I will call Lahm before administering the drug, I really want to understand what's going on first, this speed is really unusual."

"As you wish, Martin, but I am eager to try something else at this point, as nothing much has worked very well for me so far," declared Arthur.

"Noted," concluded Martin with a brooding look.

They talked a bit more about flyers and their design, while Martin busied himself clearing away the tea cups. Then all except Morwenna left, with Al assuring Martin that he would walk Ruth back to her door, and Ruth protesting that she did not need any hand holding.

Louisa had asked Morwenna to stay behind a few minutes to talk in private. With a concerned air Louisa said: "Morwenna… I know this is none of my business, but you and Al… you both have been having long faces, and you avoid looking at each other. You used to be quite happy together and I am sad to see that there are problems… if you are still together… or am I imagining the whole thing? I'm here if you want to talk about it."

Morwenna was silent for a moment and then said: "You are right of course, we do have a problem. We've been together a long time, we are not getting any younger, and it's time to settle down, have children, the biological clock is ticking as they say. But Al… he does sometimes mumble about commitment, but then he never does propose, and I get really… frustrated with him when he seems about to, but doesn't, like he's changing his mind all the time!"

"Right, it is surprising," agreed Louisa, "I would have thought he would have proposed by now."

"Exactly! Why hasn't he proposed? I'm sure we do love each other, what's his problem?" asked Morwenna rather upset.

"I cannot imagine it's that he does not want children, and he'd be a great dad," said Louisa.

"Right, he likes kids. It's a puzzle."

"Are you sure he has not proposed?"

"Of course I'm sure. Have you seen him give me a ring?... Neither have I!" huffed Morwenna.

"You know Morwenna… these days one does not necessarily propose any more like one used to, man on one knee with a ring. And I have not heard of any woman proposing here in Portwenn, but apparently some women take the initiative to propose themselves these days."

"Really? That sounds like something that happens only on the telly," replied a very surprised Morwenna.

"Not at all. Think about it: are you the equal of Al or not?"

"Of course I am," said Morwenna with conviction.

"Well then, if you are equals, does it make any difference who proposes? Al can be a great lump sometimes, not knowing how to say something quite simple, or not realizing he needs to do it at all. What do you think he would say if you proposed?"

"Oh dear, Louisa! What a notion! I never even dreamed of that. But you are right, why ever not? Why does it have to be the man who proposes? Ah! I am an independent woman, with my own job and income, it's not as if I were asking him to support me!… All right then, I will propose myself, and he'd better accept, that great lump!"

Louisa laughed: "Oh, I'm sure he'll say yes. He's a good man, and he does love you."

"Thanks Louisa. Are all men as thick as Al and the doc when it comes to doing something a bit… romantic?"

Louisa laughed again, truly amused. "Oh Morwenna, some men are very smooth and clever in their dealings with women, but that doesn't necessarily make them good men or good husbands. I used to get annoyed at Martin too, you know him… but, though he's got such an unusual personality, he is a very good man, father and husband. See, he had no idea he was going to propose the first time, and took it for granted the second time. I have no doubt Al will be very good to you, no matter how unromantic he might be."

Morwenna felt reassured, thanked Louisa and left full of ideas about how to propose marriage to Al.

Louisa went to the master bedroom, thinking about Martin's involvement in the King's Mart discussion earlier in the kitchen. She was very pleased that Martin, though perhaps unconsciously, had contributed in a positive way to their committee's work. So when she entered the room and found Martin in bed reading his journal she said: "Thank you Martin, you were very helpful."

"How do you mean?" he asked perplexed.

"I mean earlier at the meeting. It did help us sharpen our arguments, you played the part of devil's advocate quite well."

"I was not playing a part at all. I was merely stating facts. I was not trying to get involved, if that's what you're thinking."

Martin said this in a rather cold manner, and Louisa was stung by his tone.

"Martin… I know you were just stating facts, but… that does not change the fact it was helpful. What I do not understand is why you loath the notion of helping us."

"I don't want to get involved."

"Why not? Because you do not believe in our cause?"

"I really do see both sides of the issue Louisa, so it would be a bit awkward for me to take a side, wouldn't it?"

Now Louisa was sad and a bit angry about Martin's response and she said: "Well, you do what you think is best for you then, Martin. I'll do what I think is best for the village."

"I am not doing what's best for _me_!" protested Martin. "I am just being honest about what I think on this issue. Is that so strange?"

"No, for you it is not strange at all. It's just… I wish you could really see how I and a lot of other villagers feel about this. We really believe the hypermarket would ruin the local economy, and we love our village. It is amazing that after all these years here you still hate it so much, and… it hurts!"

Martin did not reply immediately. This outburst by Louisa had touched a raw nerve, as he had come to realize recently not that he suddenly loved Portwenn, but that he wished he could, for the sake of his family, and his own. Then he cleared his voice and answered his wife.

"I don't hate it, that's too strong a word, but… it hurts me too, Louisa. It would be a lot easier for me to feel really a part of everything that goes on in the village, as you and the children do. But I can't, and as you put it, it does hurt."

This really struck Louisa. She had not expected this at all. She had expected a retort about how impossible it would always be for Martin to become a part of the village of the idiots. This was different, very much so. If Martin could feel hurt at not being able to participate, and wished he could… then maybe it might be possible for him at some point to find a better accommodation with the tiny village. This gave her hope.

Louisa walked towards the en-suite bathroom, but paused near Martin, leaned down, kissed the top of his head and said softly: "I'm sorry." Martin did not reply but nodded briefly, and went back to his medical journal, though he could not pay attention to it anymore.

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – [2]**

In the morning Martin had by no means forgotten that he wanted to talk to the Truro neurologist, Dr. Lahm. He placed a few calls till he was able to impress on Dr. Lahm's assistant that he would administer no drugs till he had talked to Lahm himself. He left his number and also his Skype contact to be called back as soon as possible. At around 10:30 his Skype account lit up. It was not the most convenient moment as Martin had just undergone a bout of nausea following the application of sutures on a badly cut foot. He controlled himself as best he could, worried about the return of his haemophobia symptoms, then quickly poked his head into the reception room and told Morwenna: "Skype call," and closed the door.

Dr. Lahm appeared on the laptop screen in a white lab coat. He was younger than Martin had expected, mid-thirties at most.

"Doctor Ellingham?"

"Yes. Doctor Lahm, Mr. Davis tells me you want to start his new treatment tomorrow."

"That's correct."

"I am... very surprised. You could not possibly have had the time to vet Mr. Davis completely to ascertain his compatibility for your drug trial."

"Doctor Ellingham, you forget that we have a very thick file from London which contains very up-to-date data about our patient." Lahm had a somewhat condescending smile.

"So you were able to determine just by reading the file that Mr. Davis is a good subject for your drug test," observed Martin dubiously.

"That's the beauty of our drug though," answered Lahm. "If early results are confirmed it will be effective on all forms of MS, including primary and secondary progressive, regardless of the state of the myelin sheath in the nervous system. It is designed to work at any stage."

"Really?" asked Martin skeptically. "Even if there is no measurable signal from the brain to… a limb for instance, at all?"

"Exactly. I repeat: our compound stimulates the development, the re-growth of the missing or damaged myelin sheath regardless of the level of damage."

"Sounds like a miracle drug… getting totally paralyzed people to walk again." Martin was even more skeptical.

"Well, ultimately that's what we are aiming for at any rate," said Lahm with an indulgent smile which irritated Martin immensely.

"Side effects?" asked Martin.

"As usual those vary from patient to patient. Flu-like symptoms, nausea, vomiting, fever, aches, those are all common side effects, but the extent varies a lot."

"May I ask what's in the compound?"

Brief ironic laughter from Lahm: "Of course not, Doctor Ellingham. You know as well as I do how the pharmaceutical company must hold its cards close to its chest, right? No. I would appreciate in fact the utmost reserve."

"Of course," said Martin, feeling that he really disliked this man. "Dosage?"

"Each ampule is a complete dosage. You will inject intravenously once every three days for four weeks. You should receive the compound by special courier today. Refrigerate immediately."

"How many other patients are in this trial, if I may ask?"

"You may not," stated Lahm very coldly: how did this small village GP dare to challenge his research? Unheard of. Lahm was growing impatient. "I have a lot to do Doctor Ellingham. Let me know about any problems. Goodbye."

Martin cut short with a mere mumble. How galling to have this young hotshot treat him like that. But the worst was having to administer an experimental drug that he did not know anything about, and that sounded really too good to be true. Lahm was the sort of doctor who cared more about his career, grants, prizes and prestige than about people. For the first time in so many years since coming to Portwenn he finally understood, truly and completely understood Louisa's original objections to the board appointing Martin as Portwenn GP. She had accused him of seeing bodies, not people. Lahm was clearly seeing bodies, not people. Martin was incensed, as much at Lahm as at his past self. A bitterly ironic, little inner smile almost parted his lips though when he thought: "Bless this… damn haemophobia then, it makes me more humane, and a better doctor." He briefly considered whether he should refuse to administer the drug. He would tell Arthur his reservations, and if he administered it here in Portwenn it would be just so Arthur could avoid a trip to Truro every three days, which would be exhausting for the poor man, especially with side effects.

* * *

 **Chapter 4 - [3]**

Once all work related matters were concluded that afternoon, Ms. Williams had to admit to herself that she felt… well, restless. The feeling was unusual. Generally she had too much to do between work and social life (which was also work most of the time), that she did not have the possibility to really think about her personal life and feelings. One could say her life so far had been a very successful whirlwind that had left little room for introspection. Having some leisure for the first time in ages gave her the opportunity to let her mind roam freely. It was a bit disconcerting that it was immediately filled with thoughts of Doctor Ellingham. Doc Martin. Martin. To be honest with herself she had to admit she could not quite get him off her mind at all. She was rather surprised by this sudden fixation. She had no problem admitting the physical attraction, that happened to her often enough: most of the time that resolved itself by having an affair with the man and after some time that was that.

But Doc Martin was different. He made a pretty big show of not being interested, by giving her cold looks and speaking to her in a detached, professional manner. Yet he almost invariably fell into this Freudian slip of the tongue by calling her Cruella. Then, in rare unguarded moments she clearly felt he sympathized with her predicament of being unwanted and unaccepted in this tiny village. He was obviously tied to his children, and therefore to his wife, Miss Portwenn herself… Ms. Williams had no intention of detaching the doc from his family, but she perceived his behavior toward her as a subtle game of deeply veiled hints of interest in a kinky little tryst, coupled with a façade of restraint for his wife's and the public's sake. His behavior was hard to interpret and thus inevitably titillating, but if there was any possibility of interest on his part she definitely meant to pursue it. The only way to get the doc off her mind, she knew, was to get him off that smart suit and into bed, and she felt rather impatient to get it over with.

That is how her ruminations about Martin eventually brought her to think of Mrs. Tishell. The local pharmacist had a long-standing professional relationship with the doctor and, unless Ms. William's senses had suddenly become dull in her perceptions of other women's interests, Mrs. Tishell was probably infatuated with Martin as well. The way she spoke of him made it rather plain. Ms. Williams therefore decided she would do some shopping at the pharmacy and find out what she could.

Upon entering the pharmacy Ms. Williams was immediately lucky in that her suspicions about Mrs. Tishell's feelings were confirmed. There were two women, including Rose from the morning exercise class, who was clearly trying to attract the pharmacist's attention, unsuccessfully. Mrs. Tishell was talking to an older woman in a rather stern manner, but as it had to do with Doctor Ellingham Ms. Williams busied herself with a pretend examination of creams and lotions, listening attentively.

"Mrs. Bell," was saying Mrs. Tishell, "if Doctor Ellingham told you to take this antibiotic, and I can see that in his prescription, then you need to take it. All of it!"

"Oh, that tosser does not want to understand this medicine does not agree with me. I don't want it!" yelled the old woman. At that moment Rose, who kept being unsuccessful in attracting the pharmacist's attention, just huffed impatiently and disappeared in the back, obviously going upstairs, completely unnoticed.

"Doctor Ellingham is not a tosser, Mrs. Bell! How can you say that? He is the best medical professional we have ever had, the best doctor Cornwall has ever had, I dare say!" exclaimed Mrs. Tishell with dreamy eyes, which then suddenly changed to a rather stern expression: "And he did change the antibiotic Mrs. Bell, this one is not the same as the one you were prescribed before, and which you foolishly stopped taking."

"Sally, you take his side then?" asked Mrs. Bell.

"How do I have to tell you? If Doctor Ellingham prescribed a new antibiotic you need to take it, ALL OF IT!"

"You are yelling at me almost as much as he did," sniffled the old lady. "Well. Alright, give it to me then, but if it makes me run to the loo as much as that other one did, I'm NOT going to finish it, understand Sally?"

"That'll be you going to hospital then, not me!" said Sally, wrapping the medicine box in paper. "It'll be five pounds."

The old lady paid, all the while mumbling unhappily, and left.

"Ms. Williams, how can I help?" asked Mrs. Tishell.

"I am looking for some lotion or cream. My knee is still a little swollen, what would you recommend?"

Mrs. Tishell then launched into a detailed description of several different products, and Ms. Williams let her talk, thinking of a way to bring the conversation back to Martin.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tishell, I think I'll take the ointment in that blue box, it seems the best for my problem. But I also wanted to ask your advice, woman to woman."

"Really? About what?"

"Well, you are one of the few educated people in this village…" Mrs. Tishell perked up at this, "…and I would not know who else to ask about this, it's a delicate matter."

Thinking that Ms. Williams was referring to some female issue, Ms. Tishell replied with a superior air: "Of course, you can confide in me, I'm the soul of discretion, unlike all the gossiping and babbling hordes in the village."

"Well it's about the doctor."

"Doctor Ellingham?"

"Yes… I cannot understand his behavior towards me."

"What do you mean? Doctor Ellingham is always extremely professional."

"Yes, but… a moment he is extremely professional, as you say, the next he has clear Freudian slips…"

"Freudian slips?"

"Yes… he hints at… you know… kinky sex…"

Mrs. Tishell stared at the woman in shock, with big round eyes that seemed to pop out of her head.

"What? Doctor Ellingham suggested… ehm… deviant… sexual practices to you? I can't believe it! Well I have always thought him rather a dark horse, he's so… so… vigorous, I imagine that he… ah, but no, I can't believe it, you must have misunderstood. He's too professional, he wouldn't, especially not with a total stranger such as you."

"But he keeps calling me Cruella."

"Cruella?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"Several times already. Practically every time he sees me"

"He's never called _me_ Cruella."

"Why would he call _you_ Cruella?"

"Well why _you_?"

"Because he's interested in _me_ , and some… handcuffs, whips perhaps…"

"Cruella you say?" repeated Mrs. Tishell, ever more shocked. "Wait, isn't that from a cartoon?"

"Yes, it's from a cartoon… but it's just a way to identify a woman, _me_ in this case, as cruel, evil… obviously there's a double meaning there, otherwise why would he slip into such an outlandish name?… Does he do this sort of thing often?"

"No!" exclaimed Mrs. Tishell, "oh no, in all these years I have never heard him say anything like that, and he never so much as touched me with the tip of a finger, except in a medical situation, and he would have had plenty of opportunities to do so."

"Ehm… but might he not have done it with some other women?" inquired Ms. Williams.

"No, impossible, he never. And if he suddenly said anything of the sort you are hinting… well he could only be having a mid-life crisis, a break-down…a…a… psychotic episode! That must be it! This is not like him at all!"

"Well…he seems totally in control to me…"

"Ms. Williams, a person who is experiencing a psychotic episode may appear in control, but he or she is not! I'd be very careful. IGNORE IT when he calls you Cruella, don't act on it! I know Doctor Ellingham is very attractive, but control yourself, you cannot take advantage of a man in crisis!"

Ms. Williams stared at Mrs. Tishell and thought the woman was obviously out of her right mind. And Doc Martin was definitely not having any malady. The most probable cause for his Freudian slips, as with all men she'd ever met, was just plain and simple horniness which the wife for some reason could not or would not satisfy. That was the simplest explanation, and she knew that more often than not the simplest logical explanation was the most probable one.

"I promise not to… take advantage," said Ms. Williams, holding back an ironic smile with some difficulty. Then she paid for her ointment and left.

Mrs. Tishell returned behind her counter, very troubled. Rose, who had heard almost all of this conversation standing immobile and unseen on the stairs, was now trapped. She had stopped there while returning from the loo, but that conversation had been far too interesting to miss. How to come down and leave though?

Mrs. Tishell was now ablaze with worry for Martin. This was not normal behavior for the doc, he was a gentleman, and not like other men prone to philandering. No. Something must be wrong with the doc. What to do? After some thinking Mrs. Tishell concluded that finally, after so many years, she could make amends to Louisa for what she had done during her own psychotic episode, when she had kidnapped James. She would help Louisa in this crisis and make things right.

Then she heard some noise from upstairs and she looked up startled. Clive was at the gym, so who could it be? She heard the toilet being flushed and shortly thereafter steps came towards the stairs and then down.

"Rose!" exclaimed Mrs. Tishell. "What were you doing up there?"

"Sorry Sally, but you were busy with Mrs. Bell and I could not wait any longer, I really, really needed the loo, had to run."

"But… but… have you been in the loo all this time? Mrs. Bell left quite a while ago."

"Yes, I'm sorry Sally, I must have eaten something that did not agree with me, I did not feel well, so it took a while."

"And you just finished now?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Tishell looked at Rose intensely for a few moments, but as she was not very perceptive she did not read the lie in her friend's expression and said: "No problem Rose, that could happen to anyone," and was very relieved that Rose could not have heard her conversation with Ms. Williams from the loo, as otherwise there would certainly have been a lot of gossip about the doc in the village tonight. And to be sure, there was.

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – [4]**

Shortly before the end of the school day Louisa received a call.

"Louisa?" said a voice she knew but could not immediately place.

"Mrs. Rowe here."

"Oh, of course, sorry Mrs. Rowe. I just did not expect a call from you."

"We have a car problem, it won't start. My husband says he can fix it, but we'll be late picking up Jasmine."

"Oh, I see… Well, she can just walk back to our house with Joanie and James and have tea with them. They'll be with Martin. I have paperwork to finish so I won't be home till dinner. You can pick up Jasmine from the surgery. I'll send Martin a message, it will be fine."

"Thank you Louisa. I'm sure if Jasmine could talk she'd spend half the time talking about your children. They are being so good to her."

"Thank you Mrs. Rowe. We do our best to teach them to be good citizens."

"Oh, they are. Thanks again."

Thus at the end of the school day the three children were walking to the surgery together but, as was James' and Joanie's habit, they did not rush home immediately. They zigzagged here and there, looking at shop windows, enjoying the afternoon sun, laughing at nothing, stopping by the water to throw rocks, occupying themselves in other words as children happy to be free from the restraints of chairs and desks.

As was frequently the case, when they were not far from the surgery they came across one of the teenage girls packs that habitually roamed the streets of Portwenn, the very sort that invariably tormented Martin with a variety of negative comments and catcalls. These girls usually ignored James and Joanie whom they saw as small, irrelevant local kids, regardless of their parentage. This time though they were with Jasmine, and that was different. The teenage girls were walking in the middle of the street and blocking the three children's path. Usually James and Joanie just moved to the side and let them pass without giving it much thought. This time one of the unruly girls stuck her hand out and pulled at Jasmine's scarf saying: "Hey, you're not in Saudi Arabia anymore, take it off!"

Jasmine immediately retreated towards the wall, as far away from the girls as she could, appearing immediately much frightened. There was not much space, however, and the girls, who were now all laughing at Jasmine, were coming closer with the clear intention of pulling the scarf off Jasmine's head. Jasmine squeezed against the wall holding her head, with the girls' hands on her.

James was taken by surprise, as he had not expected any such behaviour from a group of girls he considered a Portwenn fixture to be ignored. However, he took in the situation very quickly. He dropped his school bag, and rushed in front of Jasmine to shield her from the girls. Joanie was standing to the side closer to the surgery, scared, staring and unable to move.

"Leave her alone!" screamed James "What's it to you if she has a scarf?"

"What, you an Arab lover now? Becoming a tosser like your daddy, are you?" said the head of the pack, giving James a couple of slight but provoking shoves.

Those shoves directly on his body did it: to say that James, standing right in front of Jasmine with his arms spread wide attempting to protect her, was now very angry at these girls would be a gross understatement. It is safe to say that James had never been quite as angry in his hitherto short life. It was as if all the numerous Glasson and Ellingham anger genes had suddenly all collided together to combine into a wrath of biblical proportions inside his small frame.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, sounding much like a smaller version of his father and daring to take a step forward, fists clenched in front of him now. This was very impressive and had the temporary effect of silencing the pack of girls for a few seconds. But he was just a child, not yet ten years of age. The girls started to laugh at him, which infuriated him even more. Then they began to reach behind James, towards the cowering Jasmine and pulling at her scarf again. James literally saw red. He completely lost any restraint or instinct of self-preservation. He charged forward and began to punch right and left any of the girls within reach, wildly, and as hard as he could. They started pushing and scratching back, while he was a small but fast moving fury, and not deterred.

Fortunately Joanie emerged from her state of panic and did the only thing she could do. She turned and ran to the surgery screaming very loudly, with an edge of terror in her voice: "DADDYYY, HELP! DADDYYYY, HELP! DADDYYY, THEY ARE HURTING JASMINE AND JAMES, DADDYYY!" She climbed the stairs as fast as she could and almost bumped into Morwenna and Martin who were rushing outside when they heard her screaming.

Martin stood baffled for about five seconds during which he took in the whole scene: Joanie, safe, jumping into his arms and being almost immediately passed on to Morwenna as he quickly ran down the steps; James furiously fighting with several bigger girls at once, and howling like a berserk Viking warrior of old; Jasmine, with her head bare, curled on the ground against the side of the road in a fetal position, trembling all over. Martin was there in a few long, quick strides. His large presence was quickly interposed between Jasmine and the screaming girls, while in one swift motion Martin also lifted his son from the ground, with James still kicking and punching empty air, unable to stop. To Morwenna, looking from the surgery with Joanie in her arms, James appeared momentarily like one of those cartoon characters suspended off the ground and moving mechanically. Then Martin's loud, angry voice stopped everyone:

"HOW COWARDLY ARE YOU, FIGHTING WITH SMALL CHILDREN?!"

"He started punching," said one feebly, while the others were already retreating, as James was put back on the ground, where he immediately went to look to Jasmine behind his father.

"AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO PROVOKE THAT?" bellowed Martin, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE GIRL, YOU IDIOTIC, MORONIC BUNCH?"

Martin did look rather scary at the moment, so that none of the girls answered.

"OH, SOD OFF, ALL OF YOU, SOD OFF!" he concluded, and the girls did run off, yelling a few "Tossers!" behind them. Martin turned to find James trying to soothe Jasmine. James was in a sorry state himself: his right sleeve was torn, his face all scratches, and the knuckles of both his hands were bleeding. His school bag and Jasmine's scarf were on the ground, both apparently much trampled. Jasmine was still curled up and trembling. Martin swore under his breath. He picked up Jasmine who thankfully did not reject his help and said: "James, can you get your bag and Jasmine's scarf? I'll carry her."

"Yeah," James simply answered, and did so. The adrenaline rush was wearing off, and James was unconsciously trying to bring his breathing back to normal. They walked the few steps to the surgery and Martin brought them all straight to the kitchen. Morwenna followed and put down Joanie.

"Doc, only one patient left, not urgent," said Morwenna

"Reschedule, and call Mr. and Mrs. Rowe, explain," Martin replied simply.

"On the double," replied Morwenna.

Jasmine was trembling rather violently in Martin's arms, obviously not just because of what the girls had done, but because this event must have re-awakened past terrors. Martin was filled with sorrow. He decided to administer a mild sedative, as Jasmine's pulse was racing and she was clearly in shock. He went to the couch and set her down, though she tried to cling to him.

"Joanie, can you stay with Jasmine? I need some items, for her and James."

Joanie went to the couch and embraced her trembling friend. Martin turned to James who was standing there a bit shell shocked, staring at Jasmine, thinking he should have done better than that, that he hadn't really saved her. But Martin, who had known bullies and their effects in his day, read James' forlorn look correctly.

"James…," said Martin softly, "you did all you could, you did more than most other boys your age would have done. I'm proud of you, that you had the courage to face those girls to try to protect Jasmine. They might have done worse had you not been there… and at least she knew she was not alone."

James looked up, gratitude in his eyes, and hugged his dad around his long legs, while Martin patted his back.

"But dad… did you see Jasmine's neck, under her collar? You can see it now without the scarf. It's all…hurt-like…"

"No, I didn't," said Martin and immediately went to Jasmine and gently raised her collar, and froze in redoubled horror.

With his voice trembling a bit Martin said: "Those girls didn't do that… those are older scars James, months old."

Both James and Joanie stared at Martin with big eyes, trying to digest this information. James shook his head, he was just as horrified as Martin. Joanie started shedding silent tears and caressing Jasmine's hair.

Martin left and came back shortly. He injected a mild sedative to help Jasmine calm down and sleep, then he gently cleaned all of James scratches and the abrasions on his knuckles, which he also bandaged.

"This bandage can come off tomorrow morning James, it's just to keep the wounds clean for now, OK?"

"Yes," mumbled James, who was resisting the impulse to cry, because the entire episode hurt, emotionally and physically, and his hands and face were stinging now.

Morwenna came in. "Doc, the Rowes should get here shortly. Doc… I know all of those girls, I know exactly who they are."

"You should tell Mr. Rowe then."

"Yes. How stupid and mean can those girls be? What did they do to her James?" asked Morwenna.

"They said that she's not in Arabia and to take off her scarf. Then they started pulling the scarf. I tried to stop them, but couldn't, they were too many."

"Ignorant morons!" said Martin.

"You did well James," Morwenna reassured the boy patting him on the back. "I hope Mr. Rowe talks to all of those girls' parents."

Martin just nodded and said: "Let's make some tea, it will be good for the children to drink something warm… and maybe eat something sweet."

"Really doc?" asked Morwenna in surprise.

"Yes, for today," then he whispered: "I do know where the chocolate digestives are hidden. Why don't you bring them out?"

Morwenna gave him a long look and then whispered back: "So you can keep pretending you don't know?"

Martin nodded and Morwenna shook her head, smiling.

When the Rowes arrived tea was made and all were sitting around the kitchen table, except Jasmine who was asleep on the couch, covered by a blanket. Martin, Morwenna and James all explained what happened, and Mrs. Rowe started shedding some tears, while Mr. Rowe looked as if he was ready to go get his shotgun. Martin took him aside.

"Mr. Rowe… those girls for the most part are just ignorant and stupid. I think you should just talk to their parents, and hopefully they will be set straight. Or you can file a complaint."

"Or both," said the older man. He was still clearly angry.

"Ah…" said Martin "you and your wife… I also need to speak to you in my consulting room."

Mr. Rowe had a worried look but said: "Sure," and both he and his wife went to the consulting room.

"Stay with the children till I return Morwenna… please," said Martin.

"Of course," assured Morwenna.

In the consulting room Martin cleared his voice and said: "I was going to call you about the culture results, which we just received. Jasmine does have an intestinal bacterial infection, probably contracted on the road somewhere. We can treat that with antibiotics. I want to be a little aggressive with the treatment because she's probably been sick for some time now and does need to eat more and recuperate. She's considerably underweight. But I anticipate that as soon as she starts taking the antibiotics she'll start feeling better and gaining weight again. We will also administer some vitamins and minerals to bring her values back to normal. The other thing though… Mrs. Rowe… have you seen Jasmine's neck, or… other parts of her body?"

Mrs. Rowe was puzzled, but answered: "Not really, no, Jasmine's been very modest, always with her scarf around her neck and hair… I did not pry of course… I'm sure in Iraq all the girls are taught to be very modest."

"Probably," replied Martin, "but… brace yourselves… Jasmine has a really bad scar around her neck, as if… she'd been tied and pulled by the neck and… we have not seen the rest of her body… I hope there's no more than that, but…" he shook his head disconsolately. Mrs. Rowe had an absent look on her face for a moment, and then fainted, with her husband fortunately catching her before she could bump her head on Martin's desk.

Martin got up and busied himself with Mrs. Rowe until she regained consciousness and fell into Mr. Rowe's arms crying, while Mr. Rowe himself appeared numbed with pain which he did not know how to express.

"Jasmine is sedated now," explained Martin, "so I could examine her if you like. It might be better than when she's awake, or… you can take her to Truro to a pediatrician I know, she's a good doctor."

Mr. Rowe said: "Doc, you're the best doctor around for miles and miles, and we trust you. Let's bring Jasmine here and see how bad it is."

Martin nodded, went out and came back shortly carrying Jasmine fast asleep. He could hardly believe how light she was. With the weeping Mrs. Rowe's help he was able to examine Jasmine's extremely skinny body. The scar around her neck he judged again to be a few months old, as well as the lash marks on Jasmine's back. All the wounds had not previously received any medical attention and had healed in a rather haphazard manner.

"I think… someone had her tied by the neck at some point several months ago and… administered some lashes to her back, at the same time more or less... It will be possible to reduce the scars with cosmetic surgery…" Martin had never before had to deal with a heartrending case such as this one. He felt himself devastated, and could not imagine what Mr. and Mrs. Rowe must be feeling. After a few moments he added: "You also need to alert social services…"

"When will she wake up?" asked Mrs. Rowe, who could not stop crying.

"Oh, she'll sleep soundly till tomorrow morning. Perhaps sleep in the same room with her, so she sees you when she awakes. I will start her antibiotic now with an injection, and hopefully tomorrow morning she'll feel a bit better already. I'll give you the first dosage for tomorrow, to be taken by mouth, and a prescription for Mrs. Tishell. You'll have to make sure Jasmine takes all of the antibiotics I'm prescribing, she must complete the course."

"Yes, sure… But what do we do when she wakes up doc?"

Martin looked at Mrs. Rowe and in a rather hoarse voice said: "Love her Mrs. Rowe, love her. I think that's the medicine Jasmine needs most right now." Then he turned around because he had a tear threatening to trickle down his cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – [1]**

Several days later Al was at Ruth's apartment working on her computer. The old lady's desktop machine seemed to need fixing quite frequently and Al had Ruth's computer all taken apart. He was changing a malfunctioning board inside and, to take advantage of the opportunity, he was giving it a general upgrade to make it faster.

"Are you sure you can put it all back together again?" asked Ruth perplexed, as demolishing the desktop computer so completely would never have occurred to her.

"Yeah, this is all rather straightforward, Ruth. Once you learn how these machines work they are all the same. Very predictable. Unlike women."

"Ah… are we talking about Morwenna now?" asked Ruth.

"Yep."

"Why, what seems to be the problem?"

"Oh, you know… I thought I had made myself clear, that I mean to marry her, but… maybe she never got that."

"So you do mean to marry her?" asked Ruth.

"Yes, of course! So even you had not figured that out?"

"Well… I suspected, but you never really said. You might have told the poor girl though."

"Poor girl? Why? I didn't do anything to her!" said Al rather miffed.

"You have been keeping her waiting a long time."

"I thought she knew," protested Al. "But… the doc says I probably mumbled and never really proposed."

"You had a talk about your… love life with Martin!?" Ruth was rather astonished.

"He is a man, you know, and he also has had some problems talking to Louisa."

"Some problems, right, I'd say that's quite the understatement…" commented Ruth with her lopsided grin, "and that's precisely why I can't see how Martin would be of help in this."

"Well, he was helpful. He said I should propose… you know… traditionally, with a ring."

"Right, that does sound like Martin."

"I would like to buy a ring for Morwenna, but… I have never bought any rings… Say Ruth, would you help me pick one in Truro?"

"I'm not sure I know about engagement rings any more than you do."

"But you have such good taste, you can help me choose. Please?"

"Fine, if it will make you move along with Morwenna, yes I can help you choose."

"Thank you Ruth! You are wonderful!"

The doorbell rang in a sort of Morse code message and Ruth said: "Must be James." She opened the door and her great nephew smiled joyfully and said: "Hello Aunt Ruth! Here's your bag of groceries. It weighs a ton, but I've got muscles! Oh, hello Al!"

"Hi there, James."

Ruth and Al exchanged a concerned look when they saw the scratches still very visible on James' face. James noticed their expressions and said: "It doesn't hurt that much anymore. Dad says there probably won't be any scars on my face. Too bad, I'd like at least one small scar, I'd be like a pirate!"

"Oh James," said Ruth, "what happened to Jasmine Rowe was not a game."

"I know, sorry…" apologized James, who had not meant to reduce Jasmine's misfortune to an adventure of sorts. Then he added sadly: "She's not coming to school anymore."

"You have to be patient James, it will probably take a few days for her to recuperate," explained Ruth, "hopefully she'll come back in a little while."

"I hope so, she's really nice."

Then James whistled when he saw all the computer parts scattered over the table. James was genuinely fascinated by all things electronic, and not just colorful touchscreens and games, but especially the hardware. He was as taken by the interiors of computers as his father was by those of human bodies and clocks, and was practically drooling at the opportunity to watch Al do this work, and perhaps help a little.

"Aunt Ruth, do you think I could stay and watch what Al is doing? I want to learn how to fix computers too."

James was given permission to stay and he quickly went to Al's side to watch. Al taught James what the various parts were about, motherboard, video card, audio card, hard drive and the like, and where each part was to be connected. Al let James insert two of the cards, tighten some screws, and re-attach most of the connecting cables.

One item Al was fixing was the sound system, so when they were done reassembling the computer they had to test both the microphone and the speakers. That was when things got funny. Al downloaded a voice changing application. They spoke into the microphone in turn, saying silly things, and then played them back with a variety of voice modifications: male, female, monsters, squirrels, devils, robots, aliens, and everything in between. James had several giggling fits, especially when he found a voice that, he thought, should have been labeled "Doc Martin," and he made it say " _You idiot_!" several times: it sounded so much like Martin that he was already plotting how to use that one for a practical joke on… mum probably. At some point James recorded: " _Ruth Ellingham! Give us scones, or your computer will always talk like this!_ " and he played it back in the voice of "Evil Lord." Poor Ruth did jump up at that, but said: "That's fine, I'll keep that voice for the postman, so at least I won't have to give _him_ any scones in the morning… Can we record: " _Leave the post outside, and me alone_ "?"

"Sure," replied James laughing.

"But you can have a scone James, you'll find one in the kitchen… Say Al…" asked Ruth in a thoughtful manner, "…could one change a voice like this through a microphone, in real time?"

"Yes, with the right equipment, though you have more of a choice of voices with these computer or smartphone applications."

"Smartphone? You can do this voice changing with a mobile?"

"Yes, you can record or write something and the mobile can play it back with all these different voices."

Ruth shook her head. "When I was young we could not even have imagined something like this, it's as much amazing as it is frightening."

"It's a lot of fun!" said James with his mouth full of scone, which made him sound rather like one of the altered computer voices, and that made him laugh again and almost choke.

"Al, this gives me an idea for the King's Mart village meeting. I think it would be… productive to help Louisa along in her rebuttal of whatever Ms. Williams will have to say," announced Ruth with her typical lopsided grin. "Top secret boys, understood? Rather innocent, but it will work only if it stays among us. What should we call it James? Operation… Greek Chorus, I think."

James stared at his great aunt with a very appreciative look: who could have guessed, a fellow schemer! So he said: "You can count on me Aunt Ruth, I can keep your secret operation… well, secret."

"I hope so, because you James are the smallest of us all, and thus the easiest person to conceal."

Al was puzzled, but smiling: this old lady never stopped surprising him, she seemed to keep finding aces up her sleeve no matter what the situation at hand. Marvelous lady.

" _Spill the beans, Ruth Ellingham!_ " said Evil Lord, without quite muffling another fit of giggles.

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – [2]**

Martin's day was proceeding in typical Portwenn fashion. Most patients had relatively minor ailments that were quite routine: some required the usual management of chronic conditions, especially the elderly; some had coughs and colds; and children needed mostly to stay home from school or take antibiotics, and sometimes nothing except less worried parents. Then in the afternoon things took a turn for the worse, or the weird.

An old man came in shuffling his feet and carrying a parcel. He sat in front of Martin, scratched his white beard and stared.

"What seems to be the matter Mr…. Payne?" asked Martin, glancing at the patient's notes, never eager to waste his time.

"I would not have imagined that of you doc, but, you never know, do you? I guess you are what they call a dark horse, ah?"

"What are you talking about? Are you sick or not?" asked Martin losing his patience.

"No more than usual."

"What can I do for you then? I don't appreciate it when people come here for no reason at all! I should be seeing patients who are really sick!"

"Doc, it's not what you can do for me now, but what I can do for you."

"I did not ask you to do anything for me! You need to go Mr. Payne!"

But Mr. Payne had been in Doc Martin's consulting room many times over the years and knew as well as anyone in Portwenn that the doc barked a lot, but never bit. Thus the old man did not lose his composure and said: "Well, you see doc, I have these instruments, but I'm too old for them now, and I thought maybe you'd like to have them." Mr. Payne put his parcel on Martin's desk.

"What instruments?" Martin did not know what to make of the man. What was wrong with him? He made no sense at all. This patient had previously not shown any signs of dementia, but it might be a sudden onset, which could have any number of causes.

"You'll see," said Mr. Payne with a sly little smile. "Go on open it, it's for you… and the lucky lady."

Martin stared at the man for a few moments, unable to decide what was wrong with the old man. He decided to humor him to see whether he could come up with a diagnosis, or at least hasten the man's departure. Martin took out a small knife and sliced the tape holding the package together and opened it. The contents were rather puzzling: a whip as you might use on a horse, policeman's handcuffs, and various other strange-looking items the use of which Martin could not fathom. Martin concluded the man must have lost his mind and jumbled together some odd items at his house thinking they were useful instruments, as he put it, but for what?

"What are these for?" Martin asked.

"Well, this is a whip, not too big, not too small, just right. It's for whipping, of course. A little you, a little her. It works wonders! This…"

But finally understanding had flooded Martin's mind, so he straightened up and asked rather menacingly: "Mr. Payne, are you saying these are for… sexual… games?"

"Yeah, of course. They cost an arm and a leg doc, really high quality, it's a pity to let them go to waste as I cannot use them anymore…"

"Mr. Payne, wrap these items again and leave. NOW."

"You don't want them?"

"NO."

"Why not? They are used but I cleaned them thoroughly with…"

"LEAVE! NOW!"

"But Rose said…"

"NOW MR. PAYNE, NOW!" Martin grabbed the package, hastily re-wrapping the instruments of torture. He stuffed them into the old man's arms and pointed at the door unequivocally. Mr. Payne left, shaking his head and mumbling about Martin's lack of appreciation. Martin thought he needed to test the man for dementia, but not now that he had a fixation on these instruments. Later, when hopefully he would have forgotten about them.

Shortly later Mr. Twist, a rather fat middle-aged man, came in about a prescription refill and started sniggering at Martin for no apparent reason.

"Doc," said the man, "you rascal you, I didn't think you had it in you. Listen, what would you say about you, me and the lady?"

"What are you saying?" asked Martin angrily, as he didn't see how the man dared call him a rascal.

"Calm down doc, calm down. All I mean is… a threesome. How about that?"

Martin stared at Mr. Twist. This one was not old enough for dementia. What was going on today, were all the patients obsessed with weird sex? Martin turned quite red in the face, but said very, very calmly: "You, me… and the lady?"

"Yeah, would be fun, wouldn't it?"

Still preternaturally calm Martin asked, now with a very dangerous edge in his voice which the man did not perceive: "What lady?"

If the man had answered "Louisa, of course," it is possible Martin would have jumped up from behind his desk and manhandled the man on the spot, but Mr. Twist said: "Ms. Williams, of course. I'm sure she'd go for it. The threesome I mean."

"Leave," said Martin very calmly and very coldly, with such a savage look on his face that the man got up and said: "Alright, never mind then, I guess you are not interested."

"NO!" yelled Martin whose cold anger was about to explode full force now. "GO AWAY!"

"Too bad, Rose said…"

"NOW!" And, in a repeat of the previous encounter with Mr. Payne, Mr. Twist left shaking his head and mumbling about missed opportunities.

Fortunately the next few patients behaved relatively normally considering they all lived in Portwenn, though there was indeed an unusual amount of giggling the whole rest of the day.

At mid-afternoon they received an urgent call from Arthur Davis' sister Beth Holmes.

Martin took the call immediately. He had been very worried about Arthur Davis. The man had stoically accepted two injections of his new treatment despite the fact that the side effects were horrendous. Too weak to sit on his wheelchair, Arthur had been in bed for several days now, almost completely paralyzed: he could move only his head and, intermittently, his left arm. He had a fever and was nauseous. He was definitely much, much worse than he had been the first time Martin had seen him.

"Ellingham! What is it?"

"Oh Martin," said Beth, "Arthur is really not himself. He is even worse than when you saw him yesterday, and… he is also delirious now, doesn't seem to know where he is, or when. I'm really scared. Can you come?"

"Yes, I'll be there in about fifteen minutes." Martin grabbed his bag while instructing Morwenna, and left.

Upon arrival Martin followed Beth straight into the barn that had been modified into a spacious apartment, complete with wheelchair ramps, lifts to move Arthur in and out of his wheelchair, bed, bathroom and armchair. Martin had marveled at how well-appointed the place was, and had not been surprised to learn that the design had been done by Arthur himself.

Arthur lied over his bed in a feverish state. He was sweating profusely, despite the fact that the nurse, a big blond woman of about forty, had wisely removed all blankets and covered him only with a sheet.

"I gave him some paracetamol, doctor," said nurse O'Malley, "to bring the temperature down, but it does not seem to be working. And his temperature is not so high as to justify this delirious state."

"What was his temperature when you gave him the paracetamol?" asked Martin.

"38.8," answered the nurse.

"It's high for him. With MS the body cannot regulate its internal temperature accurately, so the patient can feel excessively hot or cold at temperatures that do not bother healthy people. It is impossible to say what 38.8 means for him exactly, but judging from his state I'd say it's equivalent to a 40 or more."

"I see," said the nurse, "my patients usually have terminal cancer, this is my first MS case. I'll read up on it."

"You should," replied Martin rather coldly, and added: "I'll give him an injection that will bring the temperature down faster," and he extracted the necessary syringe and medicine from his bag. Once he had administered the shot Martin sat next to the bed and tried to talk to Arthur.

"Arthur, how are you feeling?"

"Who is this?" asked Arthur feebly.

"Martin Ellingham."

"Who's that?"

"Doctor Ellingham, your GP."

"No, Doctor Marshall is my GP," mumbled Arthur.

"Doctor Marshall was your GP in London, you are in Portwenn now."

"Portwenn?... Dad, is that you? How am I in this wainscot paneled room?"

They all looked at each other, puzzled: there was no wainscot paneling in the apartment.

"Wainscot?" asked Martin.

"This is such a nice room Paula," said Arthur, smiling, "you chose the best room in this hotel I think."

"Who's Paula?" asked nurse O'Malley.

"His ex-wife," answered Beth.

"She left him?" asked the nurse in a surprisingly angry tone.

"Yes."

"Oh, poor man! You'd be surprised how many people divorce when they get seriously ill. Some people are sh… " the nurse controlled herself in time, and added: "Sorry, it just makes me mad."

Arthur somehow was still smiling, but he had now transferred his admiration for the nonexistent wainscot panels to nurse O'Malley.

"Come here Paula," he said sweetly, "give us a kiss."

The nurse smiled and, to Martin's astonishment, sat on the edge of the bed, leaned down and planted a kiss on Arthur's forehead.

"There, better now?" she asked Arthur jokingly. Arthur nodded with a beatific smile and drifted off to sleep.

"Do you always kiss your patients?" asked Martin, who did not know quite how to react to this highly unprofessional behaviour.

"No, never before," answered nurse O'Malley simply, "Arthur's special. I never had a patient before who could make me laugh so much, he has the most amazing sense of humor, especially for someone who is as sick as he is. A great spirit."

Martin found he had no desire to reprimand this nurse, as he perceived she was just being kind to Arthur, if very unconventionally, and left it at that with an incomprehensible mumble. He turned to Beth and said: "When he wakes up the fever will be under control, and he should recognize you both again. Nurse, we need to keep him hydrated, so add at least one liter to his daily dosage of water, more wouldn't hurt. As the temperature goes down he should start feeling better, probably within the hour. See, there isn't much more we can do, these are the side effects of his medication. The only remedy is to stop administering it."

"But he so insisted to let him have it despite the side effects," replied Beth sadly.

"I know. I think I'll try to consult with another neurologist in Truro. I don't like the state Arthur's in at all," replied Martin. "I have to get back to my patients at the surgery, but I'll call back in an hour and you'll take his temperature again then, nurse. Understood?"

"Yes, doctor," said nurse O'Malley who had been told by Beth always to do exactly as Martin instructed. Martin left.

While driving back to the surgery, Martin reflected that he had been specifically told by Arthur himself to keep administering the drug regardless of the side effects. Martin had serious doubts now, however, and not just about the fact that the drug might not help Arthur at all, but that it might harm him long-term instead. Martin was concerned that the havoc wrought by the drug would not be reversible, that Arthur would not be able to regain even the modicum of independence and the clear intellectual ability he had had before.

What bothered Martin most of all was Lahm's cavalier attitude about Arthur's condition. Martin had talked to Lahm again the day before, but the neurologist insisted that side effects, even severe, were to be expected before positive results could be seen. At Martin's insistence that Arthur's condition counseled stopping the experimental drug, Lahm had almost laughed at him for having no backbone. Lahm had practically hung up on Martin, again. What to do when Arthur had signed papers authorizing the drug's administration for four weeks and the responsible specialist, Lahm, insisted that they should continue?

Then there was Martin's gut feeling that told him something was terribly wrong with this drug trial. It was a warning that derived from the hasty way in which Arthur had been accepted into the drug trial, and from Lahm's unwillingness to discuss any aspects of it. Martin did not really want to think the worst of a colleague, to think that Lahm was in some hitherto unproven way conducting an unethical experiment, but Lahm's _modus operandi_ felt exactly that way. How could Martin discover the truth? He thought about his contacts in Truro. There was an older neurologist there, close to retirement, to whom Martin had referred a number of patients over the years. The man was not brilliant, but definitely very competent. He might have some additional information on Lahm. At worst he would have nothing to say, so there was no harm in trying to talk to the man.

Once back in his consulting room Martin scrolled through his contacts and then touched his finger on "M. Jeffreys." After a couple of rings a receptionist answered: "Jeffreys' neurology clinic!"

"Doctor Ellingham, Portwenn. I need to consult with Doctor Jeffreys about one of my patients."

"Yes Doctor Ellingham, can you hold? I will see whether Doctor Jeffreys is available."

After a few minutes Martin heard some clicks and then his colleague's voice: "Jeffreys here. What's it about Ellingham?"

"Hello Jeffreys. A new patient, just moved back here from London, was referred to Bernard Lahm. Patient has secondary-progressive MS, is confined to motorized chair, has feeding tube and catheter, and until recently could move both arms and torso, and was perfectly lucid. Lahm admitted him to his experimental drug trial on the spot, as soon as he saw him, and we have administered the drug two times, one dosage every three days. He is supposed to continue this regimen for a month, but the side effects are devastating." And Martin went on to describe the very poor state of Arthur.

Utter silence greeted Martin at the end of his explanation, till he said: "Jeffreys, are you there?"

"Yes, Ellingham, I'm here… Sad to say, I am not overly surprised to hear this, though I am shocked about the rapidity with which this case has proceeded. Lahm has been testing this drug for a couple of years and rumour has it it's not proven effective. Side effects though were described merely as temporary and not as extensive or devastating as what you describe… Maybe I'm too suspicious, but Lahm… is the sort to seek results at all cost."

"I figured as much," replied Martin.

"Between you and I… I would not be surprised if Lahm had decided to resort to unscrupulous methods."

"But Jeffreys, whatever methodology Lahm is using he cannot be using it on my patient only. It stands to reason he would need others."

"Right… You know… two patients of mine with advanced cases of secondary-progressive MS were supposed to see me for regular check-ups last month, but they cancelled their appointments. I was not too surprised because, poor souls, when they get to that stage even getting out of the house is a chore, so it happens they don't show up… I did not refer them to Lahm, but they may have heard of his supposedly miraculous drug and gone to see him. You never know, I'll check and… I'll contact a couple other colleagues here in Truro tomorrow to see whether they have heard anything more concerning Lahm's trial."

"Thank you Jeffreys, that's very helpful. Do let me know as soon as you hear anything. We have to decide whether to administer the next dosage to my patient. I will strongly counsel him and his family against it, but they may decide otherwise, I'm not sure."

"I understand. I'll call you tomorrow. Thank you for alerting me to this situation, Ellingham."

"Had to, Jeffreys, I smell a rat," and they hung up.

At the end of this conversation Martin felt vindicated. Then there was a knock on his door.

"Come in!" he said.

Morwenna came in: "I was about to leave doc, but Mrs. Tishell came by. She says she needs to see you."

"About a medical complaint?"

"I don't know. Should I let her in?"

"Oh, fine, send her in."

Mrs. Tishell then came in and sat across Martin's desk, looking at him with big round eyes and a knowing air, but not saying anything.

"Mrs. Tishell? What is it?" inquired Martin rather impatient.

"Doctor Ellingham… have you been feeling well?"

"What? Yes, what business is that of yours?"

"I am…ehm… ehm… writing an article."

"You are writing an article?"

"Yes, I am. Is that so strange?"

"No, I guess not, you're always on about articles…" said Martin dubiously.

"Doctor, have you had… unusual… feelings lately?"

"Mrs. Tishell!... What is this article about?"

"Mid-life crisis."

"Ah. And you want to consult with me on that?" Martin found this rather irritating, but on the other hand writing an article might help keep this lunatic woman half-way sane.

"No. I want to… interview you."

"Me?"

"Yes. You are middle-aged, are you not?"

"Yes. You expect me to be a _subject_ in your study?" Martin raised his voice in annoyance.

"I would like to… interview all the middle-aged men in Portwenn." Mrs. Tishell had come to the surgery with no plan, so she had to improvise. She had no intention of interviewing anyone, but she continued: "Many men, including my Clive, have mid-life crises. They ask themselves "Is this all there is in life for me?" or "What do I want to do before I become too old for it"? And sometimes men act upon these sudden desires, as if it was their last chance. So I ask you again doctor, have you had any unusual feelings or desires lately?"

He was staring at her thinking she had no business asking these questions, but in the interest of science he said: "No."

"You feel completely satisfied?"

"As satisfied as I think it's possible for me to be, yes. I am NOT having a mid-life crisis."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"No thoughts about… ehm… other women?"

"NO!"

"No… ehm… unusual, deviant sexual desires?"

"MRS. TISHELL! That's quite enough! What in the world is this article about?!" exploded Martin. Why did they all have kinky sex on their minds today?

"Mid-life crisis, doctor, I told you!"

"And does it have to have so many questions about… about women and… sexual desires? You might be better off putting together a written, anonymous survey questionnaire you know, rather than asking these personal questions face to face!"

"But doctor, I am concerned!"

"About?"

"Your health! Are you feeling strange or sick? There is counseling you know if you have unusual wants…"

"Mrs. Tishell, that's ENOUGH! I am NOT answering any more questions! Put together an ANONYMOUS questionnaire and I'll fill it out… send it by mail to all the middle-aged men. That will provide you far more reliable data. Goodbye Mrs. Tishell!" and he got up and opened the door for her.

" _À tout à l'heure_ ," said Mrs. Tishell, rather satisfied: she could definitely put together an anonymous written questionnaire which she would send only to Martin.

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – [3]**

That evening Martin went to the kitchen and saw that James and Joanie were playing a game in the living room, and that Louisa was ready to go out again.

"Going out?" asked Martin surprised.

"Yes Martin, I told you this morning that I'm having dinner at Beth's tonight. Don't you remember?"

"No. I forgot."

They looked at each, both knowing that Martin had forgotten because he wanted to forget all about the "No King's Mart in Portwenn" committee.

"Well, we need to do some more committee work," explained Louisa. "Arthur is in no condition poor man, and Beth wants to be near him as much as possible."

"Right," said Martin in his usual reticent way, and with a long face.

"Martin… don't be like that, please. The King's Mart issue won't last forever, just a little longer. Maybe we can take a vacation at the end of term, a few days away somewhere with the kids."

"Maybe, we'll see... I'll cook the veal scaloppini then, the children seem to like it."

"Good idea."

Louisa walked to Martin, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek which he did requite with one of his own, but she could see that his displeased mien at her departure did not change. She sighed and said: "Bye children!"

"Bye mum!" both children replied at once.

"Do entertain your father children, if you can, he is moping there in the kitchen as if I were going far, far away on a long, long trip."

"Ah, daddy always misses you mum, because he really, really loves you!" said Joanie smiling. James, always the practical one, rolled his eyes and sighed: "We'll figure something out to make him stop moping mum, don't worry."

"Thank you James. See you later," and she left.

James sat there thinking what they could do to cheer up their father who was starting dinner. Not something medical, no fun at all. Clocks were not so bad, but not half as entertaining as computers. What then? Dad had only a handful of interests in his life: Louisa and his children, medicine, clocks, healthy cooking, more Louisa after hours… and nothing else. So it was time to broaden his horizons. Perhaps some detecting, in Sherlock Holmes' style would interest him? Would dad play with James' Sherlock Holmes board game? He had done it before.

After a while there was a knock at the back door. Martin, who was wearing his apron and cooking the meat, sighed and opened the door. It was Joe Penhale.

"Penhale! Not an emergency, I hope."

"I'm not sure doc. Ms. Williams of King's Mart. Have you seen her?"

"Thankfully, no."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"Well, she's missing."

"Missing?"

"Yes. Her office has been calling her hotel room and her mobile for quite some time, but there is no answer. I thought she might be here."

"Here? Why?"

"'cause everyone says that she… she fancies you, doc."

"Penhale! That's none of your business, and I certainly don't fancy _her_!"

"Well, I just asked, didn't I? I did not mean to imply any inappropriate behaviour."

"Maybe she's gone somewhere and her mobile's battery is dead," said Martin turning the veal slices in the pan.

"Ah, the case of the missing Cruella!" said James, triumphant.

"Yes. I suspect foul play," said Penhale slightly squinting as he imagined a detective would do.

"Why?" asked James.

"Blood."

"What blood?"

"On her pillow."

"A clue!" said James

"Exactly," said Penhale

"Nose bleed," said Martin

"Or foul play."

"Penhale, how much blood are we talking about?" asked Martin.

"Three areas, about one centimeter square each."

Martin rolled his eyes: "That's a nose bleed, and a small one at that."

"But nobody can find Ms. Williams."

"She'll turn up," shrugged Martin, "James, Joanie, here's the veal scaloppini."

"Smells good doc," said Penhale.

"Why don't you eat with us Joe?" piped up Joanie very sweetly. "Daddy, can Joe have mum's sclapini, since she's not here?"

Martin rarely found any reason to be displeased with Joanie, he was so biased that she could hardly do anything wrong in his eyes. But inviting Penhale to dinner?!

"Your mother might want it later," said Martin sternly.

"Dad! Mum is eating out, she's not going to eat again when she comes home!" said James very decisively, "She doesn't want to get fat, and we can discuss the case of the missing Cruella with Joe… or Lestrade."

"Well, that's very nice, thank you," said Penhale sitting down, to Martin's chagrin. "Who's Lestrade?"

"He's the policeman in Sherlock Holmes. He always needs Sherlock's help to solve his cases," explained James.

"Ah, a dynamic duo, like me and the doc," said Penhale enthusiastically, but then thought of Martin's steadfast refusal to be part of any such duo, and added sadly: "Or maybe not."

"It's a trio, actually," said James. "There's Doctor Watson too. Haven't you read or seen Sherlock Holmes on the telly, Joe?"

"Yes but… a long time ago, I don't remember that much."

"Well, at Christmas I got the Sherlock Holmes Consulting Detective Game. Then, when we went to London for dad's conference last month, mum took us to Baker Street and bought me a deerstalker hat and a pipe at the souvenir store. So I'll be Sherlock," said James chewing his veal, "you Joe are Lestrade, and dad of course is Doctor Watson."

"And who am I?" asked Joanie.

"You can be… Miss Watson, Doctor Watson's daughter," answered James.

"OK, I can do that."

"The case of the missing Cruella?" tried James. "I don't like that. What should we call it Lestrade?"

"I'm not very good at names Ja… Sherlock."

"The missing… minx!" exclaimed James "That's it, mum calls her that. Sounds right. The case of " _The Missing Minx_ "."

"Sherlock… what's a minx?" asked Joanie.

"Not sure really, but if mum says it about Cruella, it can't be good."

"Are you all out of your right minds?" intervened Martin, nonplussed by this conversation. "Minx means impudent, or shameless, cunning… or flirting… never mind! Can we forget Cruella?"

"Doc, we cannot really ignore a missing person, can we?" observed Penhale. "Excellent meat by the way, doc, I should eat here more often."

"Yeah, it's a free restaurant!" said Martin, fuming. "And I'm not convinced anyone is missing."

"That's what everybody said when you were missing, doc, all those years ago, and it was Louisa who insisted we come looking for you. So now I know, don't wait, do go look for missing people, they might have been kidnapped…"

"Or murdered!" said James gleefully.

"James! That's not funny!" scolded Martin.

"I did not say murder is funny, Watson. But it's a case! The game's afoot!"

Martin rolled his eyes, sighed and kept eating.

"Lestrade, give me all the facts you have," James asked Penhale.

"Like?"

"Well, of course Lestrade, what's the last time and place anyone saw the Missing Minx?"

"All I know is that she left the hotel this morning after breakfast, around 10:00."

"In the limousine?"

"No Sherlock, she sent the limousine back to London and hired a car more practical for these parts."

"With chauffeur? "

"No, she's driving herself. "

"What car and what colour Lestrade?"

"Range Rover Evoque Convertible. Green."

"I see, Cruella treats herself well."

"James…" started Martin.

"Sherlock."

"What?"

In a whisper: "C'mon dad! We're playing Sherlock Holmes, call me Sherlock, don't confuse Lestrade."

"Who?"

"Joe. He's playing Lestrade."

A long suffering look from Martin who then said: "Eat your vegetables… Sherlock."

"Will do, Watson…" putting a piece of carrot in his mouth, "Lestrade, do we know where the Missing Minx had planned to go today?"

"No."

"That you might be able to ask at her office in London," interjected Martin.

"Brilliant Watson!" said James. "Lestrade, do you have her office number?"

"No."

"The hotel should have her business numbers," said Martin.

"I'll ask," said Penhale, and he moved to the living room to make his calls.

"Good work Watson," said James, "now we are getting somewhere."

"How much longer do we have to play this game?" asked Martin, who despite himself had stopped thinking about Louisa and King's Mart, and was in fact not moping any more.

"Until we find the Missing Minx, of course."

"Mmm, let's hope we can do it by your bedtime, then… Sherlock."

"That's the spirit, Watson."

Penhale came back.

"We have some information. Ms. Williams' secretary, who is quite worried by the way, says she was going to visit the proposed site for the King's Mart hypermarket."

"That's why she needed the off road vehicle! Good work Lestrade!" exclaimed James.

"Ready for fruit tart?" asked Martin.

"We have fruit tart daddy? That's my favorite, thank you!" said Joanie with a big smile.

Martin cut four pieces of tart and said very seriously: "We need to fortify ourselves if we are going out to look for the missing woman at the King's Mart site."

"We are? Excellent Watson, thank you!" declared James with a big smile for his dad.

"Thank you, doctor," said Penhale, "but let's finish this tart first, it's delicious."

They quickly put the dishes in the dishwasher, and Martin said: "Jam… Sherlock, can you write a note to… Mrs. Watson to tell her where we are going? I think I'll take my bag just in case."

James took a piece of paper and wrote:

 _Dear Mrs. Watson,_

 _We are solving the case of The Missing Minx (you know who). We (Doctor Watson, Miss Watson and I) are going out searching with Lestrade (guess who?)._

 _Sherlock_

Then James ran quickly to his room and came back with his deerstalker hat and pretend pipe. They all boarded the police car and left.

"Sherlock… what makes you think Ms. Williams might still be at the King's Mart site?" asked Penhale.

"Well, we need to check there first because it's our only clue right now."

"You know," said Martin, "the proposed King's Mart site is close to where I was literally thrown off the road, on purpose, by two lunatics my first week as a GP here in Portwenn. There is absolutely no cell phone reception in that area, and I had to wait in the car for hours before PC Mylow found me."

"So we may have two suspects then, throwing people off the road on purpose. Why?" asked James.

"They just didn't like me," answered Martin, "London man who didn't belong."

"There we have our motive Lestrade," observed James. "Nobody likes Cruella, she is from London, does not belong here at all, and wants to build the hypermarket. Enough reason to send her off the road and into the mud."

"Only for the nutters of Portwenn," mumbled Martin.

They reached the part of the road that coasted the proposed King's Mart site, and stopped.

"We have less than an hour before dark," said Martin. "I don't see any car from here."

"It's a green car Watson, hard to see from here in all this greenish moorland," observed James. "Do you have binoculars, Lestrade?"

"Of course, Sherlock."

James took the binoculars, adjusted them and began scanning the area. After a minute or two he said: "Might be better if a taller person did this. You try Watson."

Martin took the binoculars and began to scan the area thoroughly. After a while he saw it, definitely a green convertible, almost straight ahead.

"I see it!" he said. "Sherlock, you wait in the police car with… Miss Watson. We have to get there and back quickly before it gets dark, and Miss Watson could not keep up, even if you might."

James was disappointed, but understood. He nodded.

Martin and Penhale walked as quickly as they could manage on the uneven ground toward the stranded car, looking through the binoculars from time to time to make sure they kept in the right direction. When they reached her Ms. Williams was asleep, much as Martin had been when he had suffered a similar fate a dozen years before. Penhale shook her a little and she woke up.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, "Took you long enough constable… Oh, Doctor Ellingham…"

"Are you hurt?" asked Martin.

"Not really, no, but I couldn't manage more than a few steps out here with my swollen knee and these shoes… not for hiking …"

"Wearing those high heels with that knee is…"

"Idiotic, I know," she had the grace to admit, and Martin nodded.

"Now, what happened here?" asked Penhale.

"Later Penhale, we need to make it back to the car before it gets dark," said Martin.

"I have a flash light."

"Penhale! My children are in the police car and it will be dark soon. We are going back now. Can you walk?" he asked Ms. Williams.

"No. I tried to get to the road, but as soon as I started to walk my knee gave way again and I had to limp back to the car the best I could. Can you take a look at it again?" this question Ms. Williams asked in a sensual voice full of innuendo which Martin, as ever, did not notice. Penhale did though, and started sniggering under his breath.

"What's funny now?" barked Martin, irritated.

"Nothing," replied Penhale standing at attention.

Martin knelt down and, much as he had done that first day at the beach, he inspected Ms. Williams' knee by getting hold of her leg, moving it various ways and feeling around the knee. And much as had happened at the beach, the feel of his large, warm hands on her bare leg immediately renewed her desire. Despite the fact that her knee really hurt again, she let a small sigh escape, which provoked another suppressed giggle from Penhale.

"Well, she really can't walk Penhale. Can you carry her? We can take turns if needed."

So they covered the distance with Penhale carrying Ms. Williams on his back. Martin felt a little sorry for the constable, but he did not offer to help again because he really did not want that much physical contact with the woman, in case Louisa was right and Cruella was really flirting with him. Penhale fortunately managed, as he kept in good shape, exercising and lifting weights regularly.

When they arrived at the car Penhale put Ms. Williams down, but as he was tired he did it with less control and more abruptly than he had intended. As a consequence Ms. Williams would have crashed to the ground had Martin not caught her in time. Thus an awkward situation developed where Ms. Williams was in Martin's arms, clutching his neck, while he was holding her up by the waist. Ms. Williams liked this immensely. Instead of letting go as soon as she reacquired her equilibrium, she hung on tighter, so that her face got quite close to Martin's. Had Louisa been there she might well have been tempted to slap the woman. As it was, the only other Ellingham… woman present was Joanie, and she did not like this little scene at all. As we all know, children can have an uncanny ability to read through adult affectations, and this was one of those times, as Joanie instinctively recognized Ms. Williams' body language for what it was: shameless flirting.

"You let go of my daddy!" yelled Joanie with an angry frown on her beautiful little face, grabbing Martin's sleeve to pull him away.

Martin did not help the situation when he simply replied: "Joanie, I was just preventing a fall."

"She was not preventing anything though, was she? Min…" and here luckily Martin was quick enough to close Joanie's mouth and clear his voice loudly, as his daughter was obviously about to say "Minx!" Joanie stopped talking but kept looking daggers at Ms. Williams, and then stuck her tongue out at that lady when she wasn't looking.

In the car Ms. Williams sat in front with Penhale, and the Ellinghams in the back.

"So what happened then?" asked Penhale.

"Two… two criminals!" exploded Ms. Williams. "They were dressed in some yellow raincoats, in a muddy pickup; they drove me off the road at a considerable speed. I lost control of the car and was able to break fully only as far from the road as you saw. Two tires blew, no mobile reception, and I could not walk at all on that very uneven and muddy terrain. I figured at some point my secretary, or someone else from the office, would realize I was missing. The architects are coming to visit the site tomorrow morning."

"That's almost exactly what happened to me a dozen years ago," said Martin, who felt rather sorry for the woman now, as she was clearly encountering the full anti-London wrath of the villagers. "Do you still want to build so close to Portwenn? They are all nutters around here."

"Oh, that's exactly what they are trying to do, scare us away. That's not going to happen," replied Ms. Williams fiercely.

"We are not all nutters dad," said James offended, "it's just a lot of villagers don't like people coming here from London telling us what to do. We can decide for ourselves, can't we?"

"I came here from London," answered Martin, "and I have been telling people what to do ever since, about their health that is."

"You came from London and you stayed," went on James rather passionately addressing his father, "you were not just passing by, telling everyone they're stupid and then leaving. You do tell people when they're stupid, but you stay, and you make us all better. So that's very different from building a King's Mart and then leaving. That's not going to make anyone better."

Though there was definite impudence in this speech, it sounded almost exactly like something Louisa might have said. Martin realized he had provoked it and was silent. To his surprise he did not feel angry, he felt almost proud of James for standing up for… his village! Martin was rather shocked by this consideration. Ms. Williams though said: "Is he always such a smarty-pants?"

"He's not a smarty-pants," replied Martin irritated, "just smart... and sure of himself." Martin's tone did not invite any comments and Ms. Williams thought it best to leave the doctor's son alone.

Penhale dropped Ms. Williams off at her hotel where she limped off without shoes, supported by the concierge. When they returned to the surgery it was about 20:45, time for the children to go to bed.

"Thank you Sherlock, couldn't have done it without you. And thank you too doctor. A dynamic … ehm…no," concluded Penhale lowering his eyes.

"Gladly Lestrade, gladly," replied James, "and it was a dynamic trio!"

Penhale looked up hopefully, and turned his eyes towards Martin, but Martin was busy attempting to extract Joanie from the police car without waking her. Penhale lowered his eyes again.

Right then Louisa came to the door and asked: "I just came back: where have you all been?"

"Where the doctor could not mope, Mrs. Watson," said James, and winked happily at his rather perplexed mother.

Later that night Martin and Louisa were lying close to each other in their big bed, Martin with an arm around her waist. They had just switched off the light and Louisa was tired. Martin though could not sleep.

"Louisa," he said softly.

"What?" she asked sleepily.

"Am I being unfair to you, to the children… the whole village? I had never thought of it quite this way, but… you expend a lot of time and energy for the good of the village and its people…"

"So do you, Martin."

"Only as the local doctor, just that."

"Well considering all the lives you save, and the dramatic improvement in people's health in general, I'd say it's not "just that," it's a lot."

"What I mean is you do what you do because you are committed to the village and its people. You belong here and… so do James and Joanie. All I ever seem to notice is the idiocy of my patients … When I was a surgeon, before the haemophobia… you were right… I did see patients more as bodies to be fixed than as people… Not anymore, now I do see them as people, though often as morons who could prevent half the harm they cause themselves. But James said something tonight… that I complain about the villagers' stupidity like a Londoner who doesn't belong, yet I do not leave... But what does that make me? A fool for staying among morons, or a fool for not knowing how to belong among them? Am I being unfair to you and the children by… obstinately refusing to belong here?"

Louisa turned around to face Martin, though she could not see him in the dark, rather moved by this speech. She caressed his cheek and hair and said: "You know, I think you rather belong here by now, though in your own odd way. You cannot feel like those of us who grew up here, no… But, think about it… you have always been happiest here in Portwenn, when you came as a child and as an adult with your Portwenn family, even if your life's experience in London makes you see a lot of people around here as idiots. It's just… we are all different, the village certainly has its share of oddballs. In that sense… you fit right in, or one can say that the villagers actually do accept you because a touch of bodmin is what they expect."

"Meaning… I can belong because there's a large number of oddballs like me around here?"

Louisa could almost hear a smile in Martin's voice.

"Right," she confirmed

"Right… but it does not change the fact that in some measure it is as if I was alienated from my own family, because I do not feel enough a part of what you three belong to… the village. Louisa… I didn't want to say this, to worry you…"

"Oh, Martin! How many times do I have to tell you NOT to try to protect me by bottling everything inside you? You must know by now that only makes it worse, don't you?"

"Yes… I did not tell you that… I have had a recurrence of my haemophobia."

"Really? It's been a long time since your last episode."

"Yes… I think this is the problem this time, feeling this gulf… this distance from you and the children, about being or not being part of your… your world really."

She felt his anxiety keenly and sought to relieve it by holding him closer and rubbing his back.

"Well… You may never become totally part of the village, but Martin you are nonetheless one-hundred percent part and parcel of our family, don't you ever think that's not true. You can only be what you are, and I love you for it Martin. You are not being unfair to us at all, you are just being yourself. Just don't you EVER, EVER keep it all inside again, you need to tell me how you feel, understood?" she concluded rather sternly.

"Yes… mum," he joked.

She laughed a little at that and said: "Sorry."

She kissed him then, and he held her close and whispered his thanks. It was easier to fall asleep after that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – [1]**

The more Mrs. Tishell thought about the possibility of Doctor Ellingham propositioning Ms. Williams to… peculiar sex, the more Sally convinced herself Louisa must be warned. It was in part Mrs. Tishell's sense of decorum that dictated such a course, but even more her perception that the good doctor was in trouble and needed to be rescued from himself, much as she herself had needed nine years earlier, when she had had her own psychotic episode. From Mrs. Tishell's point of view it was impossible that Martin would so proposition any woman unless he was not himself, thus clearly it was imperative to warn Louisa that the doctor must not be in his right mind. The problem was how to approach Louisa with such dire news.

Though Louisa did go to the pharmacy and casually conversed with Mrs. Tishell, one could not by any means call them friends. Thus broaching the subject would be difficult. But then another possibility occurred to Mrs. Tishell: revealing Martin's unusual mental state would be more easily done in Ruth Ellingham's presence. The old lady was always nice to Mrs. Tishell, and very level-headed, so that her presence was bound to inject a large measure of calm and sanity in any exchange with Louisa, preventing or mitigating any potential outbursts from the doctor's wife. Mrs. Tishell thus decided to invite both Ruth and Louisa to tea one afternoon after the closing of school. Both women accepted the invitation and were rather surprised to find each other at the same meeting in Mrs. Tishell's living room in front of a steaming pot of tea.

"Well Sally," said Ruth after they had poured the tea, "judging from the presence of both Louisa and myself, as well as the conspicuous absence of my nephew, I would venture to guess this is something about Martin."

"But Sally, didn't you say this was about Ms. Williams?" asked Louisa, immediately displeased that this would have anything to do with her husband.

"Well, ehm… you are both right… It has to do with Doctor Ellingham _and_ … Ms. Williams." Mrs. Tishell said this with a rather embarrassed air, while pulling some lint from her cardigan.

Louisa stared at her, astounded: what in the world was Mrs. Tishell implying about Martin and that minx? But before she could express her disbelief, Ruth spoke, with one of her lopsided grins: "Sally, are you saying that you have heard some gossip about Martin and Ms. Williams? I have heard it too, and it's… quite amusing actually."

"No, oh no! I do not listen to gossip, especially about an upstanding citizen such as Doctor Ellingham!"

"So what are you saying then?" asked Louisa fiercely enough that Ruth immediately sent the younger woman a quelling look.

"I am saying that Ms. Williams herself came to the pharmacy and asked my counsel about the doctor."

"She asked _your_ counsel? About Martin?" exclaimed Louisa who found this so preposterous she almost laughed. Again Ruth took control: "What sort of counsel Sally? About a prescription?"

"No, about Doctor Ellingham's behavior."

"What behavior?"

"His behavior toward her, Ms. Williams."

Now Louisa actually did laugh. "Oh Sally, you know Martin, he's a lot more likely to have scolded her than done anything inappropriate. It took him a couple of years before he made any timid advances to me, and then I had to give him more encouragement than any other man would have ever needed!"

"Ah, I always thought you encouraged him!"

"Sally," said Ruth a bit sternly now, looking Mrs. Tishell right in the eye, "we are not here to discuss that distant past, are we? What did Ms. Williams tell you exactly, what has Martin done, supposedly?"

"Ehm…" here Mrs. Tishell fell to a whisper that both Ruth and Louisa had a hard time hearing, "ahm… she said the doctor hinted at… inappropriate… sexual practices." The last two words came out very fast.

Ruth had her lopsided smile again, while Louisa was obviously beginning to fume at this whole situation.

"You know as well as I do Sally that that is extremely unlikely. That's not like Martin at all," said Louisa.

"I know!" almost screamed Sally, "That's why I'm telling you! He is not himself, he's out of his right mind, he must be having a psychotic episode!"

"Oh come on! You think I could not tell if my husband had gone bodmin all of a sudden?"

"That's just it, nobody could tell I was having a psychotic episode when I had it!"

"Well, I'm not so sure about that!" retorted Louisa.

"But Doctor Ellingham did entrust your baby to me, didn't he? So even he did not realize I was out of my right mind at the time."

Louisa froze, as the direct reference to the kidnapping was coming a little too close to home.

"Sally," said Ruth perfectly calm, "did it not occur to you that maybe Ms. Williams is delusional? That she interpreted something Martin said the wrong way? You know as well as anyone in this village that Martin can have some rather egregious verbal… malfunctions at times."

Mrs. Tishell stared at Ruth for a while and then said: "No, I did not think about it, you are right. I became so worried about Doctor Ellingham having a crisis of some sort that it did not occur to me Ms. Williams might be delusional. She seems very much in control."

"What does Ms. Williams claim that Martin said or did exactly?" asked Ruth.

"He keeps having Freudian slips, she says."

"Curiouser and curiouser," thought Ruth, like Alice in Wonderland, and then she asked: "Such as?"

"Like calling her… Cruella… all the time apparently."

Here Ruth was truly perplexed, as she could not think of any reason why or how Martin would come up with such an outlandish name if it wasn't some sort of Freudian slip. But only until she noticed that Louisa was laughing now, soundlessly for a few moments, and then rather sonorously.

"Well, it's not funny!" protested Sally.

Louisa kept on laughing, so much that she could not speak, and it took some time before she was able to say: "It's the children, they call Ms. Williams Cruella, after the evil lady character in the 101 Dalmatians cartoon. You know Martin can't keep patients' names straight for two minutes at a time. He probably thinks that's her real name."

"Ah, but she does not know about Martin's problem with names, and thinks Martin is consciously or unconsciously sending her certain hints," concluded Ruth, much amused. "Sally, it was good of you to worry about Martin's sanity, and thank you for telling us. But you can see it was all a misunderstanding now, can't you?"

"Are you sure Doctor Ellingham?"

"Positive."

"Absolutely," confirmed Louisa. "However, I think Martin's verbal clumsiness fed that minx's craving for him. She's been a flirt with him from the very first! I could kill her!"

"Oh Louisa, given that you are as sure as I am that Martin has no interest in this woman, let her be," commented Ruth.

"But... she's so stunningly good looking, so sophisticated, so self-assured, always in control of any discussion! She makes me feel… fat, stupid and incompetent!" Louisa said in a mix of anger and anguish.

Both Mrs. Tishell and Ruth stared at Louisa in wonder.

"Louisa… I never realized you could be made to feel so… insecure," said Ruth with a concerned look.

"Oh Ruth, usually I don't feel this way, but… I guess Ms. Williams reminds me that when I was young I aspired to be a professional woman, in control of some fantastic career… it didn't happen that way..."

"What did happen?" asked Ruth quite curious, as she had never really seen this side of Louisa, and she doubted even Martin knew this.

"When I was at uni… I realized I was not cut out for the sort of intense competition and pressure that such a career would involve. My thoughts kept coming back to Portwenn and… I always wanted children, a family. So I came back hoping that I could combine a good job with a family."

"And you have all that now, don't you?"

"Yes, a wonderful family and a job I love," admitted Louisa.

"So what are you worried about?" asked Ruth. "There are so many women who would like to be able to claim the same success… family women who could never have a career... and some highly successful professional women who either decided to forgo the family, or never had the opportunity."

The last sentence sounded charged with irony, and Louisa winced inwardly thinking that Ruth might have been referring to herself. But she said: "Do you mean Ms. Williams could… envy _me_?"

"She does not seem the type who wants children, actually," answered Ruth, "… but she does appear to covet your husband."

Louisa had a little smile at that, thinking of good old Martin, so totally committed to his family, so unquestionably hers. Yes, that was something wonderful Louisa had, and which Ms. Williams seemed far from ever possessing.

"Thank you, Ruth," said Louisa, "but if I see that minx flirt with Martin one more time, right in my face as she does, I don't think I'll be able to keep my cool, she so gets on my nerves!"

"Oh, she'll be gone in a little while and Martin will forget her in no time at all," commented Ruth.

"You can count on me Louisa," intervened Mrs. Tishell, "if that woman ever comes to me again speaking ill of the doctor, I will… I will put her in her place! She has no business making up such stories and disturbing the peace of such an upstanding citizen as Doctor Ellingham!"

"Hopefully there will be no need," concluded Ruth.

But Mrs. Tishell bit her lip, suddenly remembering the questionnaire she had mailed to Doctor Ellingham: what to do about that now?

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – [2]**

Jasmine did not want to go to school after her misadventure with the teenage girls, and spent most of her time tending the sheep. Fortunately, however, her health was improving: as Martin had predicted, her ability to eat increased rapidly after she started taking a strong course of antibiotics. But though her body was better, her mind still needed to find a way to heal.

Mr. Rowe went to see the parents of all the girls who had been involved in the incident. Unsurprisingly, none of the parents had been informed. Some were more tolerant of foreigners than others, but even those who appeared indifferent to the plight of refugees had to admit that the girls' bullying of Jasmine had been frightening taken in the context of Jasmine's background. All in all Mr. Rowe met with a lot of apologies from the parents and promises that the girls would be reprimanded, and that they would apologize.

The promise of apologies, however, did not put Mr. and Mrs. Rowe's minds at rest. How many other children or even adults were there who might insult or bully Jasmine? Truth be told, the inhabitants of Portwenn were not used to having foreigners live among them, though they did see a lot of tourists in season. But the tourists were not part of the community, thus Jasmine posed an unusual problem for these parts.

Mr. Rowe thought about this issue a lot, but could not see a solution, until one day Mrs. Rowe ran into Portwenn Radio's DJ Melanie. With a few well-placed questions DJ Melanie was able to figure out what had happened to Jasmine outside the surgery, and suggested Mrs. Rowe come to the radio and talk about it. Mrs. Rowe was not the sort of person who would speak easily in public, and neither was Mr. Rowe, but he saw the opportunity to smooth things out for Jasmine and took it. He contacted DJ Melanie and made an appointment to make an appeal on live radio.

When the time came Mr. Rowe was quite nervous, but DJ Melanie sympathized enough with his cause that she really tried to put him at ease. She asked him some rather simple, direct questions through which he could describe Jasmine's background, and how she had come to be a new inhabitant of Portwenn. Then finally they were able to move to the point of the conversation, Mr. Rowe's appeal. By then he felt less self-conscious and was able to express his feelings on the matter clearly enough.

"The girls who attacked our Jasmine…" started Mr. Rowe, "they are just children, and children can be mean to each other, we all know that… But Jasmine has gone through a lot, she cannot even manage to speak anymore… and to attack her… it's like beating a wounded dog... A lot of people in the village remember our son Jonathan, his military funeral and his George Cross... Our son was an honorable man, he would have married Jasmine's mother if he had not been killed, he would have brought his wife and daughter here… You all know me and my wife… we just want a good future for our granddaughter Jasmine… please help us make it possible."

After this radio appeal the Rowes felt reassured, mainly because many people called them to express their sympathy. One of them was Bert Large, who came to visit one evening bringing sweets and flowers for Jasmine. Mrs. Rowe, who had never stopped thinking of Bert as a plumber, was surprised to see him arrive with such bounty. She did offer him tea, however, and Bert gladly sat down at the kitchen table for a chat.

"How is Jasmine coping?" asked Bert while sipping his tea.

"She is even more shy and scared than before," answered Mr. Rowe shaking his head sadly, "though she keeps busy tending the sheep. She explained with a drawing that her other grandfather had sheep, so she's used to them, she really loves them. I do hope we can keep them, for her sake as much as for ours."

"Why would you not keep the sheep?" asked Bert. "I thought they were a rare breed."

"They are, they are very valuable, but… you know, debts. Not very large debts, it's more of a cash flow problem, but I'd rather not sell land if I can help it. Didn't that old restaurant of yours go under because of debts Bert?"

"It sure did. I loved that restaurant, I was so sorry to see it go like that. If there's a man who understands the weight of debts, and the anxiety… That's me William, that's me." Then Bert was silent for a few moments and thought about his plan to support small business in Portwenn. He had not considered rare sheep and farming, but why not? "You know William," said Bert, "I have decided to start a fund to help small business in Portwenn. I don't want other villagers to have to go bankrupt like I did. So, would you like to be the first beneficiary of the Albert Large & Son Small Business Venture Fund?"

"What?" asked Mr. Rowe, rather stunned.

"Do you want a loan?" asked Bert rather directly.

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes."

"What would the interest be?"

"No interest."

"No interest?"

"Right, no interest."

"Collateral?"

"No collateral."

"No interest and no collateral? Who are you Bert, Father Christmas?"

Bert smiled. "You see William… now that I have money I really don't know what to do with it, and I don't seem to have anything much to be about. It makes me feel… well, bored and useless. So a friend suggested I help of Portwenn's small businesses. And here I am, helping you, if you like."

Mr. Rowe was staring at Bert still incredulous, while Mrs. Rowe was shaking her head, smiling.

"William," she said, "you still think God has nothing to do with it?"

Mr. Rowe looked at his wife and shrugged: "Our farm is saved, I think, the sheep too. You thank the Lord, if you like, I'll be thanking Bert."

In the following days the Rowes thought Jasmine would finally be able to go back to school, but Jasmine kept running to the sheep whenever her grandfather was about to drive her to school. Mrs. Rowe then called the school. Louisa was concerned enough about Jasmine that she proposed to bring Joanie and James to the Rowe farm the next morning to see if they could convince Jasmine to come back to school.

Thus it was more than a week after the incident that, with some energetic help from Martin, Louisa and the children were able to get ready much earlier in the morning than usual, and drive to the Rowe farm to bring Jasmine to school with them, if she would come. James and Joanie jumped out of the car and went into the house, following Mrs. Rowe who had come out to meet them.

"Hello Jasmine," said brother and sister at the same time. Jasmine looked up from her breakfast and her eyes widened when she saw them. Her first instinct was flight, but she had missed her new friends and decided to stay. In fact she decided to be hospitable and gestured to the food.

"Thank you Jasmine," said Joanie, "but we've had breakfast. Are you coming to school with us? We can draw pictures, you can learn new words."

Jasmine understood well enough that this was an invitation to go to school. She shook her head to say no. Joanie took her hand and smiled warmly.

"Come on Jasmine, come with us," Joanie invited again, with such irresistible natural charm and warmth that Jasmine wavered. But it was really James who convinced her. James did not say anything. He was just lazily sitting on a chair chewing a piece of the Rowes' freshly baked bread. He looked at Jasmine and gave her a little smirk and a wave, nothing more. She looked at him intently, at the scratches still visible on his face, at his knuckles, still red. She saw simple, spontaneous courage that did not require the asking of any questions before naturally doing the right thing. Jasmine understood that, she had seen it many times in her perilous journey here, strangers taking chances for each other, helping each other. Why should the stupidity and ignorance of a group of girls matter more than that basic human decency? Jasmine understood then that hiding at home was to put the pack of girls ahead of her friends, ahead of James' simple courage and his red knuckles, and to let those stupid girls win. She suddenly smiled broadly at James and Joanie, ran to get her jacket and bag and made a sign to go. They all looked at each other with a great sense of relief, especially Mrs. Rowe, who caressed Joanie's head and said a wordless thank you. That day at school Jasmine drew a picture of a sunny, peaceful Portwenn, with the surgery very visible, no sheep, and some people walking by. It was rather like the pictures of Portwenn that local children often drew.

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – [3]**

Morwenna knocked on the consulting room door, poked her head in and told Martin that Doctor Jeffreys was calling. Martin asked his patient to wait outside for a few minutes and took the call.

"Ellingham."

"Ellingham, I've got news for you."

"Go ahead Jeffreys."

"My two patients, the two who missed their appointments, they were admitted to Lahm's trial. Both of them were admitted in the same manner as your patient, very quickly; both of them are suffering very bad side effects as well."

"So, we were right to worry," commented Martin.

"Well, I also discovered another new Lahm patient who had briefly experienced a remission of several of his symptoms. Apparently he regained sensation and some slight movement in his legs. This fourth patient's gains were short-lived though, he relapsed again and is now suffering the bad side effects too."

"Four out of four then who are not profiting, only suffering terribly from this treatment. Who knows how many more."

"So far I have not been able to find others who joined the trial this recently and this fast. Now what's odd is that many more than these four have been part of Lahm's trial for a couple of years, and as far as I know, the larger group has shown no positive results, but also no bad side effects."

"That sounds like Lahm has suddenly and very quickly decided to change something," said Martin, "and that something must be either the composition of the drug or, more likely, just the dosage."

"I thought about that too. He must have increased the dosage dramatically, that's the only explanation I can think of. Why?" asked Jeffreys.

"Because he was not getting results, so he just increased the dosage."

"And he wanted patients with primary or secondary-progressive MS in order to have a quick proof of the effectiveness of the drug," said Jeffreys. "With the relapsing-remitting sort you cannot be sure you are not dealing with a natural remission instead of the effect of any given drug, thus any trial must go on for years."

"But what he is doing must be outside the parameters of the trial as approved by the pharmaceutical company that is financing him, and the NHS," objected Martin.

"Well Ellingham, you know as well as I do that a trial is generally approved in a specific format and it's not the case that one doctor can suddenly go out on a limb and change everything, without having these changes approved by a board or committee."

"He must have desperately hoped that the larger dosage would produce sudden miraculous results so the company would then close an eye on how he got there," said Martin with anger in his voice. "Amazing. I will explain to my patient and his family what we suspect, and counsel that he immediately stop the treatment. You can do the same with your patients Jeffreys… but we need to denounce this of course. If it is as we think, it is so deeply unethical that Lahm should be kicked out of the medical profession."

"Truly. You have various vials still, don't you, Ellingham?"

"Yes. I will alert the NHS authorities and turn the vials over to them, and they can proceed as the law requires."

"Good. You have made an important discovery, Ellingham. Lahm took a huge chance involving a GP he did not know into this."

"Oh, he thinks I am a small village doctor who doesn't know much beyond prescribing some antibiotics."

"Little does he know. I have to go Ellingham, but I am ready to talk to the NHS as well. Do let me know what happens."

Martin had Morwenna rearrange appointments so that both Martin and Mrs. Holmes could be with Arthur at lunch time. As he had expected Arthur was no better. He was still in bed, feverish, full of aches and pains, quite confused as to what day it was or exactly where he was. His short memory was gone altogether as he believed he was still married and a barrister in London. Fortunately either O'Malley or other nurses were with him all the time, but it was obviously a very difficult situation for those around Arthur, and quite unbearable for Arthur himself.

Martin took Beth aside and told her what he and doctor Jeffreys had discovered, and he counseled stopping the treatment immediately. Beth was horrified and concurred immediately. Under normal circumstances she would not have dared to countermand Arthur's express wish to go through with the treatment even if there were serious side effects. However, she had to agree with Martin that at the moment Arthur was unable to decide for himself on the basis of this new evidence.

"I am not sure how long it will take for Arthur to get back to where he was before. I hope not long, but there is really no way to tell," said Martin.

Beth shook her head and said: "Is Lahm going to be punished for this?"

"If found guilty, yes. I am glad we have discovered it as quickly as we did."

"Yes, thank you Martin. Yet one more job well done, doctor. I don't know where this village would be without you."

"A lot sicker," replied Martin matter-of-factly. Beth smiled: Martin never changed, and why should he?

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – [4]**

The stunning Ms. Williams, wearing low-heel shoes and her elegant black leather pantsuit, walked with only a slight limp into Doc Martin's reception room. She walked straight to Morwenna's desk and said: "I'd like to see Dr. Ellingham, please."

Morwenna had not met Ms. Williams but knew very well who she was.

"You do not have an appointment," stated Morwenna. "Is it an emergency?"

"Doctor Ellingham medicated my knee and hand when I fell on the beach a while ago, but I'm afraid I recently re-injured my knee," said Ms. Williams.

"OK…Well, when his next patient comes out I'll tell the doc you are here, Miss Williams. Take a seat please."

Ms. Williams looked around with a certain disdain: all the patients sitting in the reception room had the air of old rheumy-eyed farmers or whining children. There was nowhere to sit without either having to converse about pigs or sheep, or without being pawed by a sick child. Wanting to avoid or at least postpone such discomfort as long as possible, Ms. Williams instead sat on the edge of Morwenna's desk and asked, affecting a nonchalant air: "So, have you worked here long?"

"Almost ten years."

"That long… So you must know the doctor quite well? He really is more like a professional London man than a country doctor."

"That he is, the doc," said Morwenna affectionately. "But he's been here long enough that he's become almost a local you could say."

"Ah, no. He does not seem a local at all. I wonder why he stays here."

"His wife is local, Head Teacher at the primary school. It would not make much sense for him to move, would it?"

"Right… But I'm just surprised a brilliant doctor such as he has not sought a better position in a larger city."

"Can't help you with that, doc's always been very private. But we're glad he's our doc."

Having previously ascertained the general love of gossip in the village, Ms. Williams lowered her voice, and with a conspiratorial air asked: "But… the doctor plays the field a little, doesn't he?"

Morwenna was startled: what was this… rather foreign woman about? "No, not the doc!" she said very decisively.

Ms. Williams watched Morwenna, and her customarily garish attire, and thought: "I guess not with someone like you." After all, the doctor's wife was herself rather a refined beauty. He must go for the truly beautiful, she thought, and as she knew to be stunning herself, she felt rather reassured. Her flirting with him had come very naturally to her. She was always surrounded by expensively dressed, powerful men of business, and affairs for them were not unusual, whether they were married or not, so she was used to being admired and courted, and to having her fun. While the doctor had never openly admired her, he had dropped that Cruella hint often enough… and he'd totally hit his mark with that choice of name, he must be rather adroit at identifying the right sort of woman, she concluded. Time to act.

Right then the consulting room door opened and an old lady walked out. Martin had come to the door and Morwenna went towards him and said: "Miss Williams here says she has problems with her knee?..."

Martin saw the woman in question, sighed and said: "If she still has problems with her knee, yes… Fine, come in for a moment then."

Ms. Williams did.

"Lie down," said Martin while putting away some patient's notes, "let's see it."

As Ms. Williams' pants were very tight, however, the hem would not roll up sufficiently to expose her knee. She decided to roll them down instead, without any prompting from Martin. So when he turned around he was suddenly confronted by long naked legs and a lacy pair of underwear. She had pulled down her pants and stretched out so fast that he did not have the time to direct his eyes to her knee without first taking in her entire lower body. Though Martin was totally devoted to his wife, and very much the monogamous type, he was not blind. The sight of those shapely legs did cause him to blush and avert his eyes quickly to the knee in question. He rushed to put on gloves, which would allow him to keep his distance for a few moments and then not to touch her directly.

"Ahm… yes," he said, examining the knee, "There definitely still is swelling here, but nothing worse. You must have re-injured it. You should keep the leg elevated as much as possible and apply some ice, it will take a little more time for it to get back to normal. Nothing more we can do. That will be all." Martin said all this in his most professional tone. She did not like the tone, and even less the use of the gloves.

"So doctor… you are being very professional today."

He looked at her puzzled: "Of course, I'm always professional. And pull up your pants."

"Professional… even when you call your female patients Cruella?"

"What?"

"Well you have called me Cruella several times…"

"Why, isn't that your name?"

"If you want it to be," she said seductively, making a very big show of slowly pulling up her tight pants.

"What is that supposed to mean?" huffed Martin, turning around and beginning to lose his patience now. "Either it's your name or it isn't!" And he regretted he really did not have any patient's notes to go by.

"Are we playing hard to get now?" asked Ms. Williams. "I'm not staying in the village long enough for that you know. We're alone now, finally, no need to pretend." And in so saying she went right up to Martin, who was standing at his desk, raised an elegantly manicured hand, grabbed his chin and tried to kiss him.

Martin jumped. Suddenly it dawned on him: she was more than just flirting, she was acting on it! Panic bells went off in his head.

"Cruella, no!" he yelled retreating.

"Ah, there's the Cruella again, and don't you deny it. That what you like, you big, big boy?" she said advancing on him, while he retreated and was almost with his back to the wall. "You want me to catch you, tie you up? Not in this room though. Come to my hotel, won't you?"

"Get back!" he said, but as he kept retreating he bumped into the wall, rather red in the face. No place to go. She was on him in no time, her body quickly pressed against his, while he was frantically thinking of a way to push her off without hurting her. But then she did something that totally shocked him: she reached behind him and pinched his bum very hard saying, with her face so close to his that he felt her minty breath almost on his lips: "Does that hurt enough, you naughty boy?" It did. He howled: "OUCH! You crazy woman, that HURT!" He finally grabbed her wrists forcefully enough to stop her without harming her. Thinking that the doctor had finally started playing the game in earnest, she smiled wickedly, and whispered: "Yes, show me your strength now, go on."

Now though it was his turn to do what she did not expect: he called for rescue.

"MORWENNA! COME HERE! NOW! MORWENNAAA!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, which startled Ms. Williams and had Morwenna running in with the fire extinguisher thinking that the consulting room must be on fire.

"Escort… her out," Martin was barely able to say, he was so mortified.

Ms. Williams was now the puzzled one, but she assumed a neutral air very quickly and walked out equally quickly, swollen knee notwithstanding, and mildly slammed the door.

"Doc, what did you say to her?"

"Nothing! Not a thing! I was completely professional, but Cruella…"

"Who?"

"Cruella, her…"

"Nigella, doc."

"Nigella, whatever…"

"You called her Cruella?" asked Morwenna in an irresistible guffaw.

"I, no… yes, but it was just a mistake… What on Earth was she thinking?!"

"I don't know, you tell me doc, it sounded like the house was on fire!"

"She wanted… "and he was so red in the face and obviously embarrassed that Morwenna figured it out and could not help laughing even more.

"Ah, she had asked whether you play the field. I guess she just found out that you don't. Blimey, what gall, here in your consulting room!"

"Morwenna, I did not encourage her for a moment!"

"Oh doc, I know. But Louisa will kill her."

"Oh dear, Louisa!" he shook his head disconsolately: how could he explain Cruella's behaviour to Louisa?

Later that night Martin felt he could not wait, he had to tell Louisa what had happened. He considered whether he would be breaching a patient's confidence, as this could after all be a case of erotomania. However, he concluded that, as Morwenna already knew, all of Portwenn would shortly know as well. He could not let his wife be caught off guard. But he did not really know how to broach the subject. Louisa was still sitting at her desk in their bedroom, finishing some paperwork, while he was already in bed supposedly reading, but really trying to talk. Finally he said: "Louisa?"

"Yes?"

"The woman from King's Mart came back today, about her knee."

"Ah, Ms. Williams again! Was her knee that bad?"

"No, not really," he sighed sadly.

"So why did she come then?"

"Ahh… I think… well she… somehow I called her Cruella, and she misunderstood…"

"So you do call her Cruella?" As she had at Mrs. Tishell's, Louisa found this quite funny, and laughed.

"It was a mistake, I think the children call her that for some reason… But she thought that was…ehm… an allusion to… ehm… sexual practices…"

"What?" exclaimed Louisa, "so she really does think you are suggesting kinky sex?" Part of her was incensed at Ms. Williams, and another part wanted to laugh out loud again, it was so preposterous.

"Of course I wasn't! I was just going to check her knee… she had her pants off in no time…"

"Pants off?" Now Louisa did not feel like laughing anymore.

"Yeah, she just… took them off… I examined her knee and that was it… then she started coming after me… Well, it might be erotomania…"

"Erotomania! Ah! I don't believe that for a second! She's a flirt, that one! How'd she come after you?"

"Just came close, grabbed my chin… asked if I liked to be tied up…"

"The impudent bitch!"

"Then she… ehm… pinched my bottom…"

"She pinched your bum?! In all these years even _I_ have never done that…" Louisa's eyes were laughing now, though she was trying to keep a straight face.

"LOUISA! That really hurt! I had to call Morwenna."

"I bet Morwenna got herself a big laugh."

"Yes."

"Oh Martin! The woman must be used to getting her way with any number of men, she sure has the looks and opportunities for it."

"I don't find her attractive."

"No?!"

"Not really, no, she's so… aggressive."

"Oh dear, she scared you, didn't she?"

"…Yeah…" replied Martin sheepishly.

Louisa giggled, really amused despite her irritation with Ms. Williams. "Poor Martin. You ought to put a sign on your door: "No erotomania treatments here." Well, no local women would ever come after you, so we'll have to watch out for those out-of-town girls, won't we?"

"But Louisa… I only called her Cruella, and was being totally professional, why did she come after me like that? It's not as if I behaved like… some womanizer."

"Oh Martin, but you _are_ attractive to women, and doubly so because you don't even know it."

"I'm not!"

"Yes," she confirmed and then half-whispered: "... and you do have a rather nice bum." He heard her.

"Oh, Louisa!… I'll just finish my article," concluded Martin burying his face in his journal with a deep blush.

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – [5]**

It was an unusual Saturday afternoon. James sat at the kitchen table by himself, rather distractedly playing with his Lego pieces. He was not entertained. Generally on the Saturdays when mum decided she would have a "girls' bonding" somewhere with Joanie, Martin and James used that time for an equivalent "boys' bonding." But not today. Louisa and Joanie had left mid-morning for Truro, and James was supposed to amuse himself for a short while just until Martin was done with his appointments. Then the surgery would close and the two Ellingham men could choose an activity together. But something had gone very wrong during surgery.

A man had come into the surgery and quarreled fiercely with the doctor. They had yelled at each other very loudly, and it had apparently ended with Martin practically kicking the younger man out of the surgery. Both James and Morwenna had been rather startled. Though the doc always lost his patience with people and yelled at them for not taking their medicine or making themselves sick, he really never resorted to physical violence. Thus neither Morwenna nor James had ever seen the doc grab someone by the collar and march him out the door, but that's exactly what Martin had done. After that it was lunchtime, and under normal circumstances Martin would have prepared some lunch for the two of them. But no. Incredibly Martin instructed Morwenna and James to go eat some fish and chips at the pub, while he, Martin, would not budge from the surgery and make some very important telephone calls. Now Morwenna had left, just as puzzled as James as to the doc's behavior, and James sat in the kitchen with his Lego trying to puzzle out his dad. What had really happened with that man this morning? What had the man said or done to make dad so angry? Why was it that dad did not want to leave the surgery?

That's when the phone rang and, since all the doors were now open, James heard his father say:

"Ellingham!... Where?... Yes I know the farm you mean. Is she unconscious? ….But she's breathing?...How much blood from her head?... Oh, this is really the worst time!... Yes of course I'll come, you idiot, do you expect me to let someone die?" and he slammed down the receiver. After a few moments James heard his father say: "Penhale! You need to get to the surgery IMMEDIATELY. I have an emergency, but the surgery needs guarding. We'll be locking all doors and windows, but you must guard the surgery until I return. James will be at the house with you... Yes, I'll explain later… Get here NOW Penhale, NOW!... Right!"

A few moments later Martin appeared in the kitchen with his bag and said: "James, I have an emergency. Penhale will be here in a couple of minutes. While he runs over here we lock the back door and all windows."

"But dad… what's happening? I don't understand… and I don't like it."

"Sorry James, you are right, but there is no time now. I promise to explain later. Penhale is rushing over here, don't be afraid."

Barely two minutes passed and Penhale arrived, out of breath from running fast uphill. Martin wasted no time and said while rushing into his car: "Lock the front door too now, and don't let anyone in. I'll be back as soon as I can." And he drove off to his emergency. No more than five minutes had passed since the emergency call had arrived.

More perplexed than ever James let in Penhale and locked the front door.

"So what's going on, James?" asked Penhale, "What crime are we dealing with today?"

"I don't know, Joe. Dad is acting very odd today, he even kicked a man out."

"Really? Must have been someone particularly idiotic."

"Maybe, but… He was really angry with the man, and has explained… well, nothing really. All I know is we can't let anyone in."

"Can you let anyone out?"

"Like who? There's just the two of us Joe, and we can't leave, we've got to guard the house till dad gets back."

"What are we guarding?"

"I wish I knew. I don't see anything different. Do you?" asked James.

"No, but we should check the premises. Thoroughly."

"If you like… But I live here, and I don't see anything different. Still, we could look for clues."

"Exactly. After you."

So they began to inspect the surgery, looking for something that would explain the doctor's odd behaviour. After looking all over and not finding anything suspect, both James and Penhale were rather bored, James about to offer Penhale to play some game together.

"It must be something medical," concluded James, "There was nothing strange about dad this morning before he started seeing his patients."

They were now sitting quietly in the living room. Penhale was about to answer when they heard a muffled sound of glass breaking coming from the direction of the consulting room. They both jumped up from the couch, instinctively careful not to make any noise.

"Stay here," whispered Penhale.

"We need to call for help," James whispered back.

"I'm the police. Who else would you call?"

"Dad of course."

"Yes. You call him, I catch the perp."

"Can't go to the reception room. Mobile?"

Penhale hesitated briefly, then took out his mobile: "That's _my_ mobile, not business. Don't mess it up."

"OK."

Penhale then started tip-toeing toward the consulting room as quietly as possible, looking very much like a hound sniffing for his prey. James considered he'd better send his father a text message, which would be quiet, and quickly silenced Penhale's mobile. He wrote: " _Sounds like someone breaking into consulting room. Joe is checking_." There was no immediate answer, so James followed Penhale very quietly.

The constable was paralyzed in the hall, not daring to open the consulting room door. Penhale was scared, yet he had a strong feeling he could not let down the doc and James. James looked at him quizzically with an expression that clearly said: "What are you waiting for, Joe?" As James was a little reckless, he almost opened the consulting room door himself. But Penhale took a deep breath, hoisted his heavy belt a little higher, tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen looking at James to make him retreat, and charged into the consulting room. Retreat wasn't James' thing though. James followed, brandishing Penhale's mobile as a camera with which he started filming Penhale's charge.

The consulting room was the same as ever other than for a man who appeared to be moving something from the fridge to a medical sort of bag. The windowpane was broken. The man looked up and froze. James recognized immediately the man whom his father had kicked out earlier.

"Burglar!" yelled Penhale, "you are under arrest!"

The man, startled though he was, was quick-witted. He must have finished taking what he wanted because he quickly grabbed his bag, shoved Penhale aside and made a dash for the door. James though was quick to stick his foot out to trip the man. The man didn't quite fall, but stumbled and this gave Penhale the time to catch him by the arm and stop him. The man tried to pull away, but Penhale held fast, and they were soon having a scuffle. James thought he had filmed enough for the moment. He put the mobile in his pocket and walked a bit around the two fighting men, who were now rolling on the floor, until he could grab Penhale's handcuffs. Then, as he had no access to the intruder's wrists, he put one handcuff around the man's ankle, and as soon as he could, he put the other one around the nearest big object, which was one leg of Martin's big desk. Then James retreated, satisfied: the intruder could not run anywhere now. He started filming again. After some more scuffling the two men realized something peculiar had happened to the burglar's ability to move and they stopped, both rather out of breath.

"I said you're under arrest!" yelled Penhale again. Right then the front door slammed and an agitated Martin rushed into the consulting room.

"Dad! There's your burglar!"

"Lahm! You… you broke in here! It was you, you made up a bogus emergency at that farm!"

Lahm simply sent a venomous look, but did not say anything. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but here clearly he had destroyed his career.

"Penhale, this man was trying to steal some vials of medicine, and he broke in."

"Yes, he is under arrest!" said Penhale triumphantly.

"And I've got it all on video!" exclaimed James cheerfully: now there was evidence, even Sherlock Holmes could not have asked for more!

"Get up, you!" said Penhale.

"I can't, can I?" said Lahm indicating his ankle.

"Right," answered Penhale and leaned down to release the ankle so he could arrest the man properly. However, no sooner had he released Lahm that the man took everyone by surprise. He grabbed the bag with the vials which was still on the floor and made a mad dash out the door and into the street.

Martin, James and Penhale were stunned by this daring and very fast escape, but immediately began to give chase. There began a race that started with three after one, and practically ended with the whole village after one.

Lahm ran down towards the village with his three pursuers after him, with Penhale yelling: "Everyone, catch that thief, citizen arrest, catch him," and Martin booming: "Out of the way!" and James running after his dad thinking this had suddenly turned into the most fun afternoon ever.

Up little streets went Lahm, then down again, turning right, turning left, running uphill, running downhill, with an ever growing group of men running after him. Lahm must have been running for sport, thought Martin, as he was fast and kept going and going.

Then Martin put order in the chase: he directed the pursuers to split in different directions, and instructed James to send him Lahm's picture from Penhale's mobile, which James was still holding. James quickly saved a shot from the video he had made, clearly showing Lahm's dismayed face, wrote "WANTED!" underneath, and sent it to his dad's mobile. Martin uploaded the picture to the surgery's website, normally used for health related announcements, information and appointments, so that all the pursuers could see it or download it to their own mobiles. Lahm was indeed a wanted man as in no time he had seemingly all of Portwenn's able-bodied men on alert and looking for him.

After some more running around the village they finally spotted the fugitive trying to reach a cliff. Martin and James were in the group that found Lahm, and for a moment Martin thought the ruined neurologist might try to jump off the cliff, but no. Obviously he wanted to throw the incriminating vials into the ocean, because without the vials there would be no immediate proof of his medical misconduct.

Martin tried to make a mad dash towards Lahm, but he had been running for some time, and though in good shape he was older than Lahm and out of breath by now. However James, like most children, was able to run a considerable amount of time without tiring, and as he was totally exhilarated by this adventure he was still very full of energy. James then ran past his father and dove for the medical bag with the vials. He caught the bag in the air as it was being flung over the cliff, and as a consequence he flew off the cliff himself clutching the bag with one hand.

Martin watched in horror as his son disappeared over the cliff. "JAMES!" he screamed in shock, feeling as if he had been administered a heavy body blow, though momentum and desperation brought him to the edge, to look down, where to his enormous relief he saw James holding on to the cliff with one hand, clutching a vial in the other hand. One big, burly fisherman did not think of it twice, he quickly scrambled down the cliff and grabbed James' wrist, while holding on to the rock wall with his other hand. Martin sighed in temporary relief, while realizing immediately thereafter that this situation was only slightly better than a minute earlier, as both the fisherman and James where hanging onto the cliff very precariously. But he had underestimated the men around him. All, except one who was holding Lahm, quickly made a live chain of men, holding each other by the arms, and they hoisted James up quickly as he was very light, and then helped the burly fisherman scramble up too, right after James.

Martin clutched his very scratched son to his chest and actually burst into tears. "James, oh James! Never, ever, ever do that again!" He was holding James so tight that James could barely breathe.

The burly fisherman approached, stretching his sore arms and said: "He's safe doc, we got him."

"Thank you," said Martin, trying to wipe off his tears, "you saved my son's life… I do know you from surgery, but…"

"I'm John Watt ."

"Right, Mr. Watt, thank you, if…"

"Doc, no problem, for you and your family, this and more. I know you don't remember, but you saved my mum's life five years ago. No problem at all," and he patted James on the head: "You lad, be more careful."

"Sorry Mr. Watt," said James rather contrite, "but I got a vial dad. The rest flew down."

All the men were now contemplating Martin, who was having a difficult time regaining his composure. While the embarrassed doctor thought they probably found him weak to be crying like that, the men were actually appreciating the fact that, as some had suspected, the cantankerous doctor actually did have a heart, and they liked him better for it. Only Lahm, whom they were holding tight, had a contemptuous look on his face. Martin ignored him, and was about to say they should call Penhale to make an arrest, just to change the subject, when another man said: "You need not be embarrassed doc. It was your own son hanging out there, so it's OK. And John here is right, we're all happy to help the Ellinghams. We all owe you. You diagnosed my wife's cancer early, and she's alive and well now, all thanks to you."

"You yelled at me for years to change my diet," said another, "like a right tosser doc, but now I weigh two stones less, my pressure is under control, I feel so much better, and can even get it on with the wife again."

"My mum got the wrong diagnosis in Truro, remember doc? They were going to operate for no reason at all, but you set them straight doc," said one of the younger men, "I'll never forget how you pushed that surgeon in Truro with his back to the wall and yelled: "You moron, you'll kill her!"

Another man cleared his voice and said: "You screamed at me too for not bringing my daughter to see you sooner, doc, when she kept having "accidents," and you figured out they were bullying her at school. My poor baby…she was even cutting her own flesh, because she hated herself so much... You figured it all out, you sent us to the specialist in Truro. Now she's fine. If John hadn't gone down the cliff first, I would have, doc."

Martin was stunned. They were not thinking he was weak and ridiculous, they were thanking him. He felt not just relieved, but very, very surprised and grateful. He could only nod though and mutter: "I was just doing my job, nothing more."

They shrugged, with a knowing air, as definitely the doc "just doing his job" was darn fantastic, and they let him go, just as Penhale arrived ready to make his arrest. The constable spontaneously exclaimed: "Ah, the dynamic duo has done it again!" but was about to retract that statement when he saw James raising three fingers and winking at him, and then he heard a very uncharacteristically subdued Martin say: "Yes, thanks for your help, Penhale."

"Bert was wrong!" thought Penhale happily, "We _are_ a dynamic duo, or trio!" and, as he arrested Lahm, he had the most idiotic, happy smile on his face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 – [1]**

The big day of the village meeting about the King's Mart hypermarket plan had finally arrived. Obviously Ms. Williams knew very well what she was about. She had obtained a permit to hold the meeting just outside the pub down by the Platt and invited the entire village to attend at 17:00, with free drinks for all from the pub, and job application and vendor forms available. A podium had been installed, with microphones and speakers, as well as a large portable screen to illustrate the King's Mart plan. Thus it was no surprise that both the pub and the space outside filled up that night, as a very large number of villagers had come down to the Platt to be present at the meeting. In addition to King's Mart advertisement, the "No King's Mart in Portwenn" committee had also circulated flyers and made announcements on Portwenn Radio, encouraging everyone to come. Thus just about everyone was present, excluding only those who were too old and feeble.

Both Al and Morwenna had duties to perform during the meeting, and both came early to make sure they would have enough time for all they needed to do. On both their lists appeared the word "proposal." Thus it was no surprise that a good hour before the meeting was to begin the two young people were looking for each other. Morwenna's mobile buzzed. It was a text message from Al: " _I need to talk to you_."

" _Where are you?"_

 _"Pub. Can you come now?"_

 _"Yes, there in a minute._ "

Morwenna walked quickly to the pub, went in and looked around for Al. There were quite a few people already, so she saw him only when he got up from the table he was occupying at the very back. He was waving her there. She walked over and sat down, right in front of him. There were a few tense moments with neither knowing how to start. Then Morwenna said: "I wanted to talk to you too." There was a softness in her words and her tone that pleasantly surprised Al as she had been cold and distant lately, making him fear she really wanted to end it. This encouraged him to take her hand and caress the back of it with his thumb.

"Morwenna… I know I'm a great lump… I'm probably no fun at all…"

"Al, yes, you are a great lump sometimes, but you are a good, good man. And I love you Al."

Al was stunned, this was so sudden after receiving a cold shoulder from Morwenna for so many days. He squeezed her hand tighter, and in a voice sweeter than he knew he had he said: "I love you too, Morwenna. That is why I wanted to see you. I have never said it well enough, but… it's very clear for me: I love you and I want to marry you Morwenna."

He took out a small box and gave it to her. Now it was Morwenna's turn to be stunned. Where did that sweet voice come from? And he had finally actually said it, he was proposing marriage! She was silent for a few moments and Al grew worried. He looked at her with an inquisitive and really worried air that Morwenna found very endearing. She took the little box and opened it. Of course there was a ring in it, with a blue stone in the middle, not very large but beautiful, sitting among some tiny diamonds mounted in an intriguing geometric pattern. It was stunning, Morwenna loved it instantly and wondered how Al had had the good taste to pick this particular ring. She would have guessed him for a man who favored something much more traditional.

"I hope you like it," said Al, still expectantly.

"I love it, it's wonderful. Al, I came here with something for you too."

"Ah, thank you… but… will you marry me then?" he asked scratching the back of his head in doubt.

"Look at this first, love." Morwenna fished inside her handbag and took out a small box, not unlike the one she had just received. She placed it in front of Al and said: "Go on, open it."

Al was extremely perplexed, having no idea what could be in the little box. He did as he was told and opened it. There were two rings in it, two simple golden wedding bands. He stared at them and then took them out and saw they were engraved on the inside. On the larger one's interior he read "Morwenna," and on the smaller one he read "Al." Al shook his head, looked up and smiled, his eyes shining. He was so touched that he felt a small tear might escape his eye if he wasn't careful. So he did the only thing he could do. First he took the blue engagement ring and put it on Morwenna's finger, and then he took her into his arms and kissed her. After a while he just held her and whispered: "When? Do you want a big wedding?"

"Not too big. But as soon as the vicar can do it. I'm tired of waiting, aren't you?"

"Yes. I do want you to be my wife as soon as possible."

"Al… I don't have anyone really. Do you think your dad would give me away?"

Al smiled widely now, nodded vigorously and kissed her again. But, speak of the devil…

"Oh my, children!" said a well-known voice. "Being naughty at the pub?"

Al and Morwenna turned around and laughed. They looked so happy, and then Bert spotted the ring on Morwenna's finger and jumped in surprise: "Al, my boy, have you finally done it? You proposed? And she's obviously saying yes!"

The two young people nodded, all smiles.

"We're getting married as soon as possible dad," said Al.

"Bert," said Morwenna, "I know this is the other way 'round, but would you be so kind as to give the bride away?"

Bert's laughter resonated as an interior, deep rumble, which made his entire big body quiver. He sat down, took Morwenna's hand and said: "I'll be honored my dear girl, honored. You know, I had been wondering how to keep myself busy, useful, in my old age. I will help small business ventures in Portwenn, but… now I know: I'll be a grandfather some time soon, I'm sure of it, looking after the progress of the next Large generation. You'll never need another child minder, you two. You have made me a happy man, children, a very happy man."

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – [2]**

Martin of course had come to the village meeting as well, both to support his wife, and to keep an eye on the children. While walking about the Platt nervously, he saw the Rowe family coming toward him. He exchange their nod, and Jasmine ventured a small smile at the doctor, something which he had not expected and which, to his surprise, really touched him. At that moment a group of teenage girls started walking directly towards them. They all immediately recognized the pack of girls who had attacked Jasmine. Jasmine felt rather safe, flanked as she was by her grandparents and the doc, yet she squeezed herself closer to her grandmother, who put a protective arm around her shoulders. The girls approached. They were not wearing their usual mocking expressions. They were very quiet and, Martin thought, nervous. One of the girls came forward, quite close to Jasmine, holding a small parcel. It looked like a present wrapped in colorful paper and tied with gold and silver strings. It appeared to have been prepared with a lot of care. "Jasmine," said the girls' leader, "We are very, very sorry. This is for you." And she proffered the small parcel to Jasmine. Jasmine was half fascinated by the beautiful wrapping paper and ribbons, half scared as someone suspecting a hidden bomb.

"Take it Jasmine," said Mrs. Rowe nodding at Jasmine, and smiling both at Jasmine and at the girls. Jasmine then took the parcel.

"Go on, open it," encouraged her Mrs. Rowe.

Jasmine understood and started opening the small parcel very carefully. She did not want to break the paper, she wanted to keep it, and the ribbons too. It took a while, but when the small parcel was finally open it revealed a silk scarf in a blue design that included "I love Portwenn" written across. It was obviously bought at one of the local souvenir shops, but it was one of the higher quality and more expensive scarves, as it was genuine silk, and the design was quite tasteful. Jasmine thought it was wonderful, how had they known blue was her favorite color? She spread it out to show her grandparents and the doc. Mrs. Rowe pronounced it very lovely and thanked the girls, Mr. Rowe said it was a good gift, Martin said: "Right." Then Jasmine took off the older scarf she was wearing, the same one the girls had pulled from her head, passed it and the glossy paper and ribbons to her grandmother, and wrapped the new scarf around her neck and hair. She looked really beautiful in it. She turned to the girls and smiled at them.

The gift had clearly touched something in Jasmine who, despite all her misadventures, had a tenacious belief in human beings. Jasmine went to each girl in turn and briefly hugged each one, nodding and smiling. The girls were speechless, and felt more ashamed of themselves right then than at any other time before. Martin read the girls' shame on their faces, cleared his voice and made a discreet gesture with his hand to send them on their way. They left, for once not thinking that the Portwenn GP was a tosser. Joanie then arrived and started a one-sided conversation with Jasmine on the beauty of the new scarf. The Rowes and Martin watched the two girls walk off together, and that was when Martin realized James was gone, probably playing with some other boys somewhere else, he thought, not really worried.

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – [3]**

The questionnaire had arrived in the mail the day before. Mrs. Tishell had opened the envelope with some trepidation, hoping with all her might that Ms. Williams had indeed been delusional, that the doctor had never had any Freudian slips, that he was not ill or unstable, but the great man she had always known him to be. She had understood a long time ago that, as far as she herself was concerned, Martin was an impossible dream, but she did nonetheless need to keep admiring him atop that pedestal: it fulfilled a deep seated inner desire to aspire to something higher and larger than what Portwenn had ever had to offer. Having Martin in Portwenn somehow reconciled Mrs. Tishell to the village, made her feel happier to be there.

When she opened that envelope and read the contents, all her hopes were fulfilled, to a point well beyond anything she could have imagined. She read and re-read the questionnaire several times and sighed, shook her head and dreamed that Clive could write about her like this. She decided she could not keep it. This sheet of paper was not meant for her, it belonged to Louisa, one hundred percent. She folded it neatly and put it in a clean envelope, sealed it and wrote "Louisa Ellingham" on it, and she was pleased to notice that, after so many years, this was the first time that using that surname in conjunction with that first name did not bother her at all.

As the crowd busied itself getting free drinks both inside and outside the pub, Mrs. Tishell searched for Louisa. She eventually found her as she was just moving off the table where the "No King's Mart in Portwenn" committee was collecting citizens' signatures.

"Sally, have you signed?" Louisa asked her.

"I will in a minute. May I… have a word?"

"Mmm… yes. Beth, I'll be right back."

Louisa and Mrs. Tishell stepped aside.

"Louisa," started Mrs. Tishell, "before I talked to you and Ruth… when I thought the doctor might be having a psychotic episode… I told him I was writing an article about mid-life crisis… to try to figure out whether he really was in crisis or not."

Louisa's expression was becoming troubled, as it ever did when Sally broached the subject of Martin. Not that Louisa was worried, but she was annoyed. "And?" she asked raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"And he told me that if I was going to write an article, rather than interviewing people I should put together a written, anonymous questionnaire, so the subjects of my study would answer honestly, because they would have privacy."

"You put together a questionnaire?"

"Yes."

"And you sent it to Martin to fill out?"

"Yes."

"And you read it?"

"Yes… Don't be angry Louisa… He is perfectly sane and… and… and I hope you know you are one very, very lucky woman. Here it is, you should have it." Mrs. Tishell put the envelope in Louisa's hand, turned around and left, too embarrassed to talk any longer.

Now Louisa's curiosity was piqued: what could Martin have written? She walked a little further away from the Platt, found a lonely spot in an alley, opened the envelope and saw that the questions had to be answered on a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 was either "very little" or "strongly disagree," and 10 was "a lot" or "strongly agree." She read the following:

 _1\. Are you married: Yes_

 _If the answer is yes leave the next three questions blank and go to question 5._

 _Many middle-aged men experience feelings of doubt about whether their marriage has fulfilled their expectations and whether they should not rather seek other partners or different experiences. Please answer the following questions honestly:_

 _5\. I feel happy when I am with my wife. 10_

 _6\. I find my wife still sexually attractive. 10_

 _7\. I am satisfied in my intimate relations with my wife. 10_

 _8\. I am still in love with my wife. 10_

 _9\. When I see sexy, beautiful women in person, or on television or other media, I fantasize about them. 1_

 _10\. I think about having sex with women other than my wife. 1_

 _11\. I have been unfaithful to my wife. 1 Number of times: 0_

 _12\. I think about engaging in sexual practices that involve a form of violence or cruelty, either with my wife or other women. 1_

 _Comments:_ (the comments were typed) _Problem: Why does this questionnaire interpret mid-life crisis as reflecting mainly on sexual behaviour?_ _A change in sexual behaviour is by no means the only manifestation of mid-life crisis._ _Now suppose a man is as much in love with his wife as when he first met her or married her, and he and his wife are still very compatible and have no medical problems with their libido, in that case hardly any parts of this questionnaire would be relevant for him. If he had a mid-life crisis that does not manifest itself via changed sexual behaviour, this questionnaire would be totally ineffective in collecting that data. Your study will thus be flawed in all areas that do not relate to sex, and possibly also when a man answers a 10 to question 8 (which should in any event be number 5). Question 12 is really odd._

Louisa smiled and clutched the questionnaire to her chest. "Oh Martin," she thought, "this is yet another scientific comment to say that you're still head over heels!" She walked back to the Platt, but she did not look for Martin. She looked for Mrs. Tishell. After a few moments she saw her, moving off from the petition table. Louisa quickened her pace, and when she was close enough she called: "Sally!" Mrs. Tishell stopped and turned around. She had a very worried, perhaps even scared expression on her face.

"Yes?" she said very tentatively.

"Sally… While I do think it was very odd to write this questionnaire for Martin and send it to him, to make him believe it's for an article… "

"I was really worried about him!"

"I know... As odd as it is... thank you for giving it to me, Sally. Not just because of Martin's answers, but because you decided to give it to me in the first place. It seems… well… what they call closure, doesn't it?"

Mrs. Tishell's lips were trembling, she gulped and her eyes seemed to be filling with tears.

"I am sorry Louisa. I…"

"Shh," said Louisa, patting her on her back, "I understand. Let bygones be bygones, OK?"

Sally could only nod in the effort to control herself, which she finally managed. She felt as if an enormous weight had just been lifted from her shoulders, and she finally could produce a small smile.

"Right then," she said in a small voice, "see you around."

"Yes," replied Louisa smiling, "yes, see you around."

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – [4]**

"Have you brought it?" whispered Joanie to her best friend Melanie.

"Yes," whispered back Melanie, "It's nice and soft already."

"Good, we need to do it now then. I have one of my daddy's gloves in my pocket," said Joanie.

"How do you know which is Cruella's chair?" asked Melanie with a frown.

"It says 'Ms. Williams' on it. James called it a direct chair."

"What's a direct chair?" Melanie was really puzzled.

"No idea," answered Joanie. "But never mind what it is, it's her chair anyway, 'cause her name's on it. We go up the steps where they put the chairs, and do it."

"But why do we have to do this Joanie?"

"'cause she tries to kiss my daddy. I hate her!" replied Joanie fiercely, scowling at the memory of that little scene on the moor, when Ms. Williams had hung as close to the doc as she possibly could. Joanie shivered.

"What if they see us?" asked Melanie, whose motive was not so personal, just gratuitous mischief.

"Nobody's looking now. You can stand in front of me while I do it, and I'll be quick 'bout it."

So the two girls climbed the podium's steps and appeared to be innocently looking about. Joanie had already put her small hand inside one of her father's large surgical gloves. It did not fit at all, as her five fingers fit comfortably into just three receptacles. No matter. Melanie surreptitiously passed a small packet. Joanie put her gloved hand into it and took up a handful of soft butter which she very quickly smeared on the black seat of Ms. William's director chair. She spread it quickly, but very evenly so that it could not be easily spotted. Then, as she had seen Martin do several times, she held the butter packet tight in her fist and wrapped the glove over it as she was pulling it off her hand. She then threw the whole mess into a waste bin.

"Done," whispered Joanie.

"Too bad though," commented Melanie, "Cruella is wearing a really pretty dress."

"But when she gets up it will look like she wet herself!" replied Joanie. The two girls giggled rather wildly at that, in anticipation.

"It's a great idea, Joanie."

"Not my idea. James'."

"Ah, of course."

"He helped me practice take off the glove while wrapping the mess inside it."

"Why didn't he do it himself then?" asked Melanie. It was rather unlike James not to carry out his mischief himself.

"He said… he had bigger fish to fry."

"Ah. What sort of fish?"

"No idea."

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – [5]**

"Martin!" called a smiling, manly voice.

Martin turned around and at first could not identify the source of the call, but then he looked down and was surprised to see Arthur Davis.

"Arthur! I'm glad to see that you feel well enough to come out here today," said Martin with almost a smile.

"I think I owe that to you, Martin."

"Well… once it was clear what Lahm was up to, stopping the treatment was the logical course. That's all we needed to do to make you better."

"Yes, but you uncovered the crime, which was the necessary first step. As I said, I owe it to you if I'm almost back to where I was a few weeks ago when we first met."

"Your right hand?" inquired Martin.

"Still no sensation there."

"Maybe it will come back in a while. There is no way to tell, I'm sorry."

"Oh, I know. I'm glad I was here though, when it happened. I cannot imagine what it would have been like if I had been by myself, in London." Arthur shook his head. "There is something to be said for living in a small village, a beautiful small village at that, where everybody knows you…"

"And knows your business, whether you want to or not," added Martin, less bitterly than he would have done just a few days ago.

"And knows when you need help too," said Arthur. "For better or worse this is a closely knit community. It can be very annoying, I agree, but it also has its merits. I hope you realize that, Martin. Though most people do not appreciate your bedside manner as much as I do," and here Arthur smiled again, very amused, "you've done right by this village, they all know it, they all appreciate that. An old woman told me that when you don't yell at patients they worry about you, they wonder whether you are sick or having problems with Louisa."

Martin stared at Arthur in astonishment at this last sentence. So it had become a game to them all, let's go see how much Doc Martin yells at me today, and at you too, an let's compare notes. And laugh about it. About him… And what was wrong with that after all? The important thing was that over the years the villagers had learned that his medical advice was sound, his diagnoses almost invariably correct, his prescriptions exact. They had all learned to do as he said, they had by and large abandoned their home remedies and embraced his treatments.

Martin nodded and said: "Something happened when we were chasing Lahm... I don't want to go into it, but suffice it to say that now I do see your point much better than ever before."

"I hope you also realize you are one lucky bastard to have landed a wife such as yours. She would not leave you if you got sick Martin, not Louisa, never."

"I know," answered Martin in a soft voice, "I know… When we met you asked me how it felt living in Portwenn after a dozen years… Well, I think I'm finally finding my bearings in this place…"

Right then nurse O'Malley approached, but off her uniform Martin did not recognize her. All Martin saw was a smiling, blonde, buxom woman in a tight colorful blouse leaning down towards Arthur and planting a fond kiss on his lips. Martin was startled and it showed. Arthur laughed again, but did not explain.

"Hello Doctor Ellingham!" said O'Malley smiling broadly. Martin stared at her, not comprehending.

"I'm nurse O'Malley, remember me?"

"Oh, the nurse! Yes," said Martin, but he still looked puzzled.

"Don't be so shocked Martin," said Arthur, "it seems I had underestimated my charms. She really likes to kiss me."

"Ehm, that's good," said Martin, "though a bit… sudden?"

"How long did it take you, doctor, to know you really liked your wife?" asked nurse O'Malley.

"Ah, that… ehm… no time at all."

"See? Where is the problem? Arthur is a wonderful man."

"I did not mean it's a problem…" said Martin embarrassed.

Arthur had his ironic smile and said: "Martin… I take every day as it comes. If O'Malley is with me, it's a much nicer day, and it does not need to be explained any more than that, does it?"

"No. I'm pleased for you both."

"And I'm so pleased I almost want to thank that Lahm fellow," joked Arthur.

"NO!" answered Martin sternly.

"No, no. Just joking. Well, I have a few items to discuss with the committee before the meeting, so… bye," concluded Arthur, abruptly driving his chair away, followed by O'Malley who looked back and winked at a bewildered Martin.

"Right," mumbled Martin to Arthur's retreating back, and thought with satisfaction that in Arthur he had met a kindred soul, one who did not waste any time in useless niceties.

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – [6]**

Ms. Williams had prepared a presentation, to be delivered after the first round of drinks. She was not surprised to see her opposition up front: the doctor's wife most prominent, with a man in a motorized wheelchair; another, late thirties brown-haired woman; a thirty-something, slightly balding, blondish man of average build, and a skinny old lady were clearly all together. Evidently a lot of villagers had brought their children along, as there were quite a few of them at the back, playing games and making noise, but sufficiently removed from the podium that they would probably be unable to interrupt her. Some parents were holding back as well, closer to the children, probably to keep an eye on them. Among them she could not miss the tall, distinguished looking doctor, wearing yet another stunning suit that would have fit better at a London business meeting than here on the Platt. She sighed: there was not enough time and opportunity to figure out and pursue this puzzling man any further. While he had shown he was uninterested in her, she had too much confidence in her own seducing abilities to believe that. She concluded he must be either too scared of his wife or having potency problems. Too bad.

Ms. Williams cleared her voice in an audible manner through the microphone and then began: "Good evening ladies and gentlemen of the beautiful Portwenn. I trust you have had some time to quench your thirst at the pub, and if you have not, remember, tonight you are the guests of King's Mart, do help yourselves. I am Nigella Williams, King's Mart West Marketing Manager, and I would like to provide some details concerning King's Mart plan to build one of our largest hypermarkets at the edge of the village, just off the coastal path. We believe our plan will not only bring convenient one-stop shopping to this area, it will also create a number of jobs. To that end we have brought job application forms. Additionally, and many of you may not be aware of this, the hypermarket will have a department devoted to local Cornish products, therefore we also have applications available for any of you, farmers, fishermen, artisans, who may choose to sell items at our stalls in the hypermarket. Let me illustrate now the building plan," and she went on to explain how many acres would be reclaimed, what spaces would be devoted to what type of groceries or merchandise, where the huge car-park would be located, and all manner of other details, all of which, taken together, made the whole plan sound impressive and grandiose. She used slides and short videos projected on the large portable screen very effectively.

Louisa, Arthur, Beth and Al exchanged worried looks: Ms. Williams' pitch was excellent. They had their arguments of course, but they needed to come across as convincing as Ms. Williams', or better in fact. As the appointed spokesperson, Louisa had the chief job of presenting the opposing view. So when Ms. William's was done with her pre-prepared materials and asked: "Any questions?" Louisa waved immediately with her list. While Louisa had no problem speaking publicly at village meetings, Ms. Williams was indeed intimidating, exuding certainty and self-confidence. Louisa felt her stomach contract: this was like going up for a very public examination. She might have been even more disconcerted had she known that at this very moment her husband's stomach was tied into much bigger knots than hers, as he was very nervous about his wife's performance. There were various floating microphones for questions from the public, and a King's Mart employee passed one to Louisa. Unbeknownst to Louisa and all the King's Mart personnel, however, one of the microphones had been… borrowed by two members of the public, one very… large, one rather small, and could not be accounted for till much later.

Louisa took the microphone and said: "Good evening. You all know me well, so I don't need to introduce myself."

A chant, as if of many voices saying: "LOU-I-SA! LOU-I-SA! LOU-I-SA!" surged from the speakers. Puzzled people turned around, but there was no obvious source of this interruption, so it only worked as an invitation to some clapping. Louisa herself was a bit startled, but encouraged nonetheless.

"Ms. Williams made a very good presentation, but we do have serious questions. The first question relates to the visibility of the hypermarket both from the coastal path and from the sea. Can you unequivocally guarantee that the very large structure you have just described will not be visible to the thousands of tourists who come here every year to admire the natural beauty of our coast and the old villages along it? Because my fellow villagers, if this large structure is visible then it will, as we suspect, be an ugly eyesore spoiling the pristine nature of the area and therefore the tourist trade. And we all know that when one large construction project is allowed it becomes easier for yet more development to occur later. So would the hypermarket be visible, Ms. Williams, or can you guarantee that it won't be?"

"That is a question we cannot answer with absolute certainty as of yet, though so far our architects have told us that the proposed site would be sufficiently inland as to reduce its visibility from the sea."

"In other words you offer no guarantees at this time?"

"As I said, we will probably be able to do so later."

"Well, maybe later is good enough for some other people, but certainly not for me. We expect King's Mart to have a firm answer to that question before Parish Council votes on the hypermarket plan."

Cheers from the crowd followed this statement, but the mysterious Greek chorus said: "CRUELLAAAH! NO CHEATING, NO LIES!" in multiple deep and ghostly voices this time.

Everybody looked around again puzzled and quite a lot of laughter broke through the crowd. Martin looked bewildered, as for a moment he thought he recognized the inflection in those voices, though it was obviously altered. At the use of "Cruella," Ms. Williams instinctively looked towards the doctor, who kept looking around for his kids, and could still not see James.

Louisa was beginning to suspect who might be the Greek chorus ring leader, but she kept that surmise to herself.

"Second item," she announced, "about the jobs you mentioned. We assume you will be hiring personnel at the hypermarket. How many jobs will be guaranteed for local people, as opposed to people from anywhere else? We assume that you would be legally bound to accept any applications from anywhere in the UK and in fact the EU as well? So what guarantees do we have that you would be hiring local people? None we fear. How many will be full-time jobs and how many part-time jobs? What sort of contracts will these workers be offered? Would these jobs be numerous enough to substitute for the inevitable losses of income that will occur once local retailers will have to close shop unable to withstand King's Mart competition? And if the pay-rates reflect the average King's Mart pay-rates around the country, how can you say that people who make a decent living now, with their shops here in the village, would be able to carry on at the same standards of living IF they become employees of King's Mart? For instance you mentioned your plan to include a pharmacy in the hypermarket. That is guaranteed to drastically cut the earnings of a long-established business here in the village. If Mrs. Tishell were hypothetically to accept employment at the King's Mart pharmacy, at current King's Mart pay-rates her income would drop, we estimate, by a third."

Here a frantic looking Mrs. Tishell got a hold of another microphone and cried: "NEVER! Never will I leave my business! I have been an independent businesswoman for more than twenty years, and you have no right, no right to come here and destroy my business! Or to hire me for less than my more than twenty years expertise is worth. NEVER!" she screamed at the top of her lungs with one of her typical manic quirks.

And the Greek chorus intoned: "HURRAY MRS. TISHELL! SHE'S SURE BODMIN, BUT ONE OF US!"

More guffaws from the public.

Ms. Williams, a bit upset now, said: "We will of course uphold all the laws as required, and we will offer the same advantageous contracts which all King's Mart employees enjoy. At least one third of the jobs are expected to be full-time."

"Not good enough," said Louisa, "not good enough Ms. Williams. This is no guarantee that the hypermarket won't destroy the livelihood of many families here in Portwenn. Not good enough."

Greek chorus: "NOT GOOD ENOUGH! NOT GOOD ENOUGH! SHAME ON YOU, CRUELLAAAHH!"

"Third item of business!" announced Louisa, who by now felt a lot more confident. "The sale of local Cornish products. Naturally King's Mart will want to sell those for a profit, as everything else. If you are re-selling our fish and vegetables at market price it means our farmers and fishermen will have to sell them to you for less than that, which is less than they would make if they sold those products here themselves. You would in fact become an intermediary between the producers and the public, would you not?"

"Yes," replied Ms. Williams, "but we could guarantee a larger volume of sales."

"So catch more fish for less money? Grow more vegetables for less money? Is that it?" retorted Louisa quickly. "The local producers will make as much as they make now only if you deliver a rather larger volume of trade than exists now then. How can you guarantee that? When the town is full of tourists they sell in large quantities and bring home all the profits of their work. Why should they turn over some of it to King's Mart? Wouldn't some cheaper, frozen and boxed fish in your frozen foods sections cut into the fishermen's sales instead? And if we bankrupt all of our local fishermen we may well have to end up eating farm-fed frozen fish from who knows where, fed who knows what!"

A spontaneous chorus of disapproval and disgust rose from the crowd. And the Greek chorus: "OH EWW! WE WANT TO EAT OUR OWN FRESH FISH!"

The crowd: "Yeah!" "Yes!" "Hear, Hear!"

Greek chorus: "FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH!"

Here a lot of the crowd started chanting rhythmically: "FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH!"

The microphone was making its way through the crowd.

"Same goes for my vegetables!" said an old lady farmer. "We don't want frozen produce. Fresh Vegetables! Fresh Vegetables!"

The Greek chorus decided not to call for fresh vegetables.

The microphone arrived to Ruth, and she said with much wry humor in her voice: "Well, fresh chicken eggs do taste much better than the supermarket sort... Fresh eggs!"

Greek chorus: "FRESH EGGS! FRESH EGGS! FRESH EGGS! AAAAND… MOOORE… FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH!"

Fresh fish was very popular evidently, so the fresh fish chant enjoyed a sonorous encore from the crowd.

At this someone got the microphone and said to Martin who, not having anything to object to fresh fish, was nodding unaware of doing so, he who could not stand the frozen fish that came out of a supermarket box: "Doc, fresh fish is very healthy and good for you, isn't it?" and he passed the microphone to Martin.

"Yes, baked as opposed to fried is best, plenty of lean protein, one of the best sources in fact," declared Martin automatically, and his well-known voice boomed through the crowd. He went on: "In fact it is best to eat small-sized, wild caught fresh fish, not because farmed fish is necessarily worse, but because often we do not know how the farm fish was raised, what it was fed and especially whether it was fed antibiotics… The flavor of just caught fish is best of course, as the inhabitants of the village know full well… "

Greek Chorus: "THANK YOU DOCTOR ELLINGHAM! FRESH…"

"I'm not finished!" said Martin, his voice still booming through the speakers.

Greek Chorus: "SORRY!"

"Seasonal vegetables and fruit that have just been harvested also offer maximum nutritional value and best taste," Martin kept lecturing everyone. "Frozen vegetables do not necessarily provide less nutritional value than "fresh" vegetables shipped from afar that have been sitting on a supermarket shelf for some time. You are more likely to reap the highest nutritional value, therefore, from fruits and vegetables grown locally and consumed almost immediately after harvesting or picking. From a nutritional point of view probably the greatest danger presented by the hypermarket would be the availability of a wide variety of cheap pre-cooked, highly processed foods. When you pay attention to food labels, as I do, you discover that even supposedly simple foods are actually concoctions of multiple ingredients, often including chemicals used for preservation, hydrogenated fats and…"

Greek chorus: "THANK YOU FOR THE LECTURE! HURRAY FOR DOC MAR-TIN, HO-NO-RA-RY CI-TI-ZEN OF PORTWENN!"

Martin shrugged and let go of the microphone which made its way back to Louisa.

"Thank you Doctor Ellingham for your support! Fourth item of business!" Louisa announced, now exhilarated, riding a wave of husband, crowd and chorus support. "Traffic on the road to and from town. We have at least two problems here: in tourist season traffic is already difficult. The increase in traffic projected with the construction of a hypermarket would make it very time-consuming for citizens and tourists alike to come into and leave Portwenn. This might even divert tourist traffic elsewhere. The other problem has to do with the rare breed of sheep from Rowe farm grazing very close to the road. These sheep are listed as a rare breed. The increase in traffic will be a direct danger to them, and each individual sheep is a rather valuable animal. Can King's Mart guarantee the safety of this rare breed of sheep? We think NOT!"

Greek chorus: "BAAH! BAAH! BAAH! LET ME LIVE CRUELLA, LET ME LIVE! BAAH!"

The crowd laughed with gusto at this. The microphone made its way to the Rowe family that was standing fairly close to Louisa, and Mr. Rowe said: "We would make sure to take King's Mart to court if any of our sheep got killed." Cheers from the crowd.

Arthur was able to stretch his arm out, take the microphone from Mr. Rowe and say with a fairly firm voice: "And if you have to do that Mr. Rowe, I offer you the best legal counsel in Portwenn, free of charge!"

Cheering from the crowd for the barrister.

And now a small miracle happened. Jasmine, who had silently been learning more and more words, mastering the basics of a foreign language with the rapidity of an agile young mind, took the microphone from Arthur's hands and brought it toward her own mouth. As if by magic the whole crowd quickly hushed, in amazed anticipation, as by now everyone knew the sad story of the mute girl. And Jasmine… spoke! She said in a trembling, very soft voice, magnified by the microphone: "I love…Portwenn," this clutching her new scarf, "Portwenn… my…home…with sheep. Baah!" Then she burst into tears of joy, and so did her grandmother and her best friend, little Joanie.

As for the Greek Chorus, it ran riot: "HURRAY FOR JASMINE ROWE! SHE'S ONE OF US! JAS-MINE, JAS-MINE, JAS-MINE! HURRAY FOR THE ROWE SHEEP! BAAH! BAAH! BAAH!"

"King's Mart will ensure the construction of additional lanes where needed," said Ms. Williams, desperately trying to be heard, "to ensure the flow of traffic into and out of Portwenn."

"Not good enough, not good enough!" replied Louisa. "You cannot build more lanes into Portwenn itself. The tourists can stop at the car-park, but residents would have a hard time getting home, and more lanes where they can be built might mean more dead rare breed sheep. Not good enough!"

Greek chorus: "BAAH! NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"

At this point Ms. Williams did not have enough answers to give to appease the villagers. She threw daggers at Louisa with one look and then said into the microphone: "Citizens of Portwenn, your objections have been noted and your questions will all be addressed by the King's Mart planning committee. Rest assured that we will have answers for you in time for the Parish Council meeting. Please help yourselves to one more round of drinks at the pub. King's Mart thanks you for your participation, it has been very informative!"

Louisa intervened: "For those of you who oppose the construction of the hypermarket there is a petition to sign at the table occupied by Parish Councilor Bert Large. The more signatures, the more difficult it will be for Council to approve the construction of the King's Mart hypermarket."

At that point there were a few polite claps and grumblings and many boos directed at King's Mart, as well as a final comment by the Greek chorus: "GO HOME CRUELLA, GO HOME! KING'S MART GO HOME! KING'S MART GO HOME!"

Then the image on the screen somehow changed from Ms. Williams' last slide to a looping video that elicited laughter, applause, catcalls and appreciative whistles alike: it was PC Penhale's heroic struggle against a dangerous perp in Doc Martin's consulting room, with shots of the perp taken into custody by an idiotically smiling Penhale, who was now standing by shaking hands with anyone who cared to.

Ms. Williams found the entire meeting and the hijacking of King's Mart audiovisual equipment very irritating, and it showed. She turned around, away from the microphone she had been using, and for the first time since she had risen from her director's chair her backside became visible. Unfortunately for her the line of people waiting to sign the petition was filing right in front of the podium, thus everybody saw that her behind appeared… well, wet really, as if she had had a bladder malfunction. While the adults did not think too much of that, one boy noticed and said very loudly: "Mum, look, Cruella wet herself!" and started giggling wildly. Soon all the children had joined the giggling and laughing fit, including of course Joanie, Melanie and James, who had by now reappeared and was leading the taunts. This became loud enough that Ms. Williams began to pay attention to what the children were yelling, and eventually realized there must be something very wrong with her very expensive dress. She walked as indifferently as she could to her secretary who was gathering her things and whispered: "I think those ghastly kids are laughing at me, my dress… is there something odd on my back?" In the most discreet way he could the secretary peeked at Ms. Williams' backside and frowned.

"Ehm…," he whispered, rather embarrassed "the back of your dress… it is… wet… or looks wet."

"What?" said Ms. Williams who impulsively touched the back of her dress, and then retracted in horror a very greasy hand.

"What is that?!" she said, very irate at this point. But before she could investigate Martin, who had heard the children's clamor and eventually noticed the state of Ms. Williams' dress, set aside his personal dislike for the woman, walked up to her and said: "That is unfortunate, Cruella, but bladder problems are not rare in middle-aged women, and there are various treatments, as well as Kegel exercises, that can help with the problem. I could refer you to a brilliant urologist in London. She…" Before Martin could finish, however, all of Ms. Williams' pent up frustrations with this man, as well as her present anger at being made a fool by some trickster, were vented in a sonorous slap that landed on the poor doctor's cheek. "I hope that's cruel enough for you, you spineless twit!" hissed Ms. Williams and marched off, turning around once to add: "And I'm NOT middle-aged!" Martin stood there, flabbergasted, massaging his cheek. What had he ever said?

Joanie walked up to her father and asked: "Daddy, did Cruella hit you?"

"Yes, I don't know why."

"I'm sorry daddy. She's just evil. Does it hurt?"

"A little," Martin answered, still rubbing his cheek. Joanie then thrust her arms up to be picked up, which Martin did instinctively, and then she kissed her father's cheek and said: "There, it's all better now, isn't it?"

"Yes, all better," sighed Martin holding his sweet daughter close. "Joanie… do you happen to know whether your brother had anything to do with that… Greek chorus."

"I didn't hear any singing, daddy."

"No, I mean those voices that chanted "Fresh fish, fresh fish," specified Martin.

"Ah, that might have been James, yes, he did say he had some bigger fish to fry, so maybe that was it?"

Martin was rather perplexed by that answer, but he put down Joanie who ran off with Melanie somewhere. As he was mulling over the question of James, fried fish and the Greek chorus, he saw the Rowe family approaching again, walking through the thick line of people waiting to sign the anti-King's Mart petition.

"Doc, could you help us a moment?" asked Mr. Rowe.

"Yes?" said Martin questioningly.

"Jasmine is trying to explain something, but does not know enough words. Do you have that translating thing in your mobile?"

"I imagine so, let's see."

Martin checked his smartphone and sure enough the translation application was there. Then he looked at Jasmine.

She haltingly said: "Story… of…" and then she pointed at her own neck, just where the scar was.

Martin wrote "scar" and Arabic appeared. "Yes," said Jasmine.

"Scar," said Martin.

"Story… of… scar," repeated Jasmine.

"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Rowe, concerned about what might be revealed.

"Men… take me… be…" said Jasmine, then indicated the mobile. Martin thought they might need an Arabic keyboard, but then he saw one could write with one's finger, and he showed Jasmine. She then wrote in Arabic something which the application could read and translate as the word "wife."

"Wife?" said Martin stunned. "Men took you to be a wife?"

"Yes. Men… take… girls… be wife."

Martin looked at Jasmine's grandparents and said: "I read of this actually, they kidnap young girls to make them become wives, wives for these terrorists."

"She was someone's wife?" asked Mrs. Rowe in shock.

"She's too young still, but no doubt she would have been made to wed as soon as she was old enough… probably thirteen or fourteen… I mean… right after puberty."

Both Mr. and Mrs. Rowe looked utterly horrified.

"I run," said Jasmine.

"You ran away?"

"I run… men… take me. Men… do…" and she pointed at her back.

"They caught you and hit your back," interpreted Martin.

"Yes… after … I run."

"After they hit you… you ran again?" asked Martin.

"Yes…men… take me…do… scar," said Jasmine pointing at her neck.

"They tied you by the neck, after catching you again… what beasts!" said Martin in a mix of anger and horror.

"After… I run."

"You ran a third time?" said Martin astonished, "after they gave you lashes, caught you again, and tied you by the neck, you managed to run again?"

Martin and Jasmine's grandparents were silent, staring at the girl in wonder. Mrs. Rowe appeared deeply saddened, and Mr. Rowe, his voice shaking, said: "You are your father's daughter Jasmine, strong like him, you didn't give up. You saved yourself, and us too. He'd be so proud of you." And he instinctively hugged Jasmine, which he had never dared to do before. Jasmine had obviously not understood, so Martin typed what Mr. Rowe had said and showed Jasmine the Arabic translation. She nodded and said: "Thank…you… grandfather… Rowe." Mr. Rowe, old rough farmer though he was, couldn't help himself and broke down, letting tears stream down his face even when he had been unable to cry all these years since his son's death. Martin was also very affected by this scene and accompanied the Rowe family back to their car and said: "Tonight I will order a bilingual dictionary for you online, you should receive it in a couple of days. But I'm sure Jasmine is going to learn very quickly now." The Rowe family thanked Martin, and left, sad and happy at the same time.

Martin stood there wondering how so much cruelty and suffering had not broken the spirit of this brave young girl, how she could choose to see the better side of people and turn sorrow into joy. He thought he had had some cruelty to endure in his own childhood as well, but his faith in humanity had indeed been gravely tarnished. It didn't take long to understand the difference though. Jasmine had been mistreated, tortured even, but not only she knew she had been much loved by her family in Iraq, she had also accepted her Cornish grandparents' love immediately, without fear of loss or suspicion, because that was what family was supposed to be: love. Martin had never had that, or only briefly with Auntie Joan, and then only as a grown man with Louisa. "Oh Louisa," he thought, "you and your gifts, James and Joanie, you really did save me." And if Jasmine could so easily belong here because someone here loved her, why couldn't he?

Martin's musings were interrupted by the arrival of Ruth.

"It all worked out for the best in the end I think. Louisa was worried about facing off with Ms. Williams, but she held her own, " said Ruth.

"Yes… she had some help from those voices though," commented Martin.

"Yes, our Greek Chorus, rather a good trick I would say," answered Ruth with her usual lopsided grin.

"OUR Greek Chorus?"

"Yes, of course, who did you think it was, Martin?"

"I rather thought it might have been James. I swear that boy thinks of a new trick every day."

"Well, he executed, to be sure, but… it was this old girl's trick this time though," said Ruth briefly pointing at herself.

Martin stared at his aunt, amazed.

"YOUR trick?!"

"Yes. Is that so strange?"

"Yes it is strange! That you… you…"

"Oh, come off it, Martin! It was all in good fun, and it worked rather well."

"But how did it work?"

At that the chief accomplice arrived skipping merrily.

"Dad! Aunt Ruth! I say, it's a glorious day!" exclaimed James with a big smile.

Martin rolled his eyes and said: "You little rascal, how did you get your aunt to do it?"

"Do what?"

"Really Martin," intervened Ruth, "it was MY idea, and I enlisted Al and James to carry it out."

"Ah, the chorus!" said James smiling even more. "Aunt Ruth is a GENIUS dad! She whispered to Al what the Greek Chorus should say, and Al sent a text message to me, using her mobile. I had Al's mobile. Then I played back the text messages with the voice app… sometimes I whispered it and changed it a little, I added some fresh fish… but it was mostly aunt Ruth's text messages."

"But where were you? And how did you have a microphone?" asked Martin, mystified by both his aunt's and his son's trickery.

"I was under the podium, of course. Bert snatched one of the King's Mart microphones for us, nobody noticed. We didn't steal it, we put it back."

Martin looked intently at his son, and then his aunt, and then said: "Ruth… you realize you are encouraging my son to play tricks, do mischief?"

"It was harmless fun Martin, except for Ms. Williams, and it worked. Look at the line of people signing the petition against King's Mart: the Parish Council vote is a foregone conclusion now. And James… he's a good boy, doing what his old aunt asks him to do." Martin frowned, not sure whether he should believe this or not.

Louisa arrived then and asked Martin with a worried expression: "Martin, Joanie says that woman slapped you. Are you all right? What did you tell her?"

"I'm fine, and I said nothing to provoke her! I was just providing some medical information."

"Ah, that explains it then," said Louisa matter-of-factly. "They are all signing the petition, isn't it wonderful? I think we've won already!"

"You seem surprised," said Martin.

"Well, I really did not know how this meeting would go, you know? I mean… it was me, just your old Louisa from Portwenn, going against that London model of professional achievement. I was not really sure how we would fare."

Martin looked intently and very tenderly at Louisa and then said: "Ehm… Ruth, James… could you give us a little privacy?"

"Come James," said Ruth, "let's see if they need any help at the petition's table."

"OK," said James shrugging, but happy every time he saw that loving look for mum in his father's eyes.

Martin walked silently arm in arm with Louisa away from the crowd. The rest of the village seemed really empty. He led her to a small, deserted alley and said in a tender voice:

"But my old Louisa from Portwenn… is not old, and she can hold her own against anyone. She's a smart Head Teacher, the best they ever had, she's a wonderful mother, a loving wife, and…so beautiful. Cruella can't hold a candle to you, and that's all there is to it."

"Really? You don't admire her at all?

"No. She's a fine business woman, with a commanding presence, but… she does not have a particle of the fire that is in you Louisa. You know I love you for it. It started immediately, on that plane, and at the meeting where I was interviewed for the GP post. You were so beautiful, and so full of that fire. I fell for you right then, you know that, don't you?"

Louisa pulled his head down and kissed him. For once, in that deserted alley, he was not embarrassed. He requited the kiss and felt really happy in her arms.

"You know Louisa… I have been thinking a lot about the village, or my place in it… asking myself whether I will ever feel like I belong here… But in the end, it's clear: I do belong, I belong to _you_ , and to the children. So I'm not a local, I could never be that, but if you are loved by your family, and respected, appreciated by the people around you… for once Bert put it right to me a little while ago. He said I'm like an honorary citizen of Portwenn. That is an apt metaphor. The men who saved James off the cliff… they think so too. I can be content with that Louisa, that's belonging enough. If I have all this here in Portwenn, then I think I'm better off here than I ever was as a surgeon in London. And I'm definitely not having a mid-life crisis over this."

Louisa smiled and looked at him intently, then incongruously whispered: "Bless Mrs. Tishell, no crisis at all," and kissed her husband again.

* * *

And so it was that the Ellinghams continued with their good works in the village of Portwenn. Mrs. Ellingham was reconfirmed in her certainty that she had made the right choice of abode, career and especially husband, and let her passion on the issues inform her always. The doctor continued with his usual brusqueness, and his utter lack of patience for stupidity, but learned to detect the small but frequent signs of gratitude from patients among the "tosser" that were still addressed to him from time to time. To be sure the muddy pickup with two yellow-clad men often passed him on the drive to a house call or another, but it always slowed down and made space for him to pass.

 **The End**


End file.
